


Extra Credit: ASE Oneshot Collection

by Thunderbird587



Series: ASE Universe [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Brooding, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Masturbation, Multi, Sexual Fantasy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:42:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 80,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderbird587/pseuds/Thunderbird587
Summary: Bonus content for A Secondary Education: deleted scenes, alternative povs, side stories, and kid fics. Each oneshot stands on its own, but all are best enjoyed if you've read ASE already, so please do that first!Ratings and tags will vary. See inside for individual summaries.Ideas and requests welcome!





	1. Enigma

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back again, and very excited to finally have something to start off this collection! I'm hoping to be able to add to it regularly. I have a sizable list of requests already but I'm always happy to take more, so let me know if there's anything you want to see. I will try to get to as many as I can, but I will be working from some of my own ideas as well.
> 
> A lot of you asked for the beginning of the story from Harry's perspective, so I thought that would be a good place to start. This is not an exact scene-for-scene rewrite, but it covers all of the important events from the first three chapters. I hope you enjoy it! <3

“I’ve hired Draco Malfoy to be our new Potions Master.”

Harry went very still, one hand gripping the handle of his instrument cabinet. He took a deep breath, processed that sentence, and then opened the cabinet door. Various Dark Detectors from his Auror days came into view, all draped in a thin layer of dust but otherwise looking intact. He took out the Sneak-o-Scope, more to have something to do with his hands than anything else, and turned to place it on his desk. It was only then that he looked up at the headmistress to acknowledge what she had just said. 

“I wasn’t aware he had applied for the position.”

She hesitated, watching him. “He didn’t, in truth. I invited him to come for an interview many months ago, when Horace first announced his retirement.” 

“I see.”

“I offered him the position immediately afterward. He was far and above the best candidate.” 

“But you didn’t announce it to the staff,” Harry observed flatly. 

“No, I didn’t. Because at the time, he declined.” 

Harry stared at her, stymied and confused. 

“He expressed a great interest, but had to admit that his… life circumstances made it inconvenient. I took some time to seek out new possibilities. Before I could hire someone else, he contacted me. Things had… He had changed his mind. He wanted to join us this fall. I happily took him on.” 

“And this was… yesterday?” Harry asked carefully. 

Her gaze sharpened. “This was in late June.” 

“And yet you’re just telling me about it now, a week before the fall term starts.” 

Her eye twitched, the only sign that she had picked up on the (admittedly, poorly masked) accusation in his tone. “I had concerns about how you would react. Is there a foundation for them?” 

Harry stared down at the Sneak-o-scope on his desk and considered that. If he thought rationally about it, he could understand why she might worry about his reaction. The animosity between himself and Malfoy during their youth had been visible and enduring to all who were at Hogwarts at the time. It didn’t much matter that Harry had spoken up for the Malfoys at their respective trials or that Malfoy himself had sent him a letter not long after thanking him for that, and for the return of his wand. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t had any interactions in seven years, that Harry had hardly spared any thought for the man in nearly all that time. 

In the end, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy would be fixed in the wizarding zeitgeist as mortal enemies, whether or not it was really true. 

And yet, when he _thought _about Malfoy, or even about the idea of him teaching there, at Hogwarts, alongside Harry for most of the year, the only thing Harry really felt was ambivalence.

“I’m not sure exactly how I feel about it,” he said aloud. “It would have been nice to know sooner, in order to… prepare myself.” 

Minerva sighed. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said grudgingly. “But I will admit that… I had the thought that you and the other staff might talk, and perhaps a biased attitude might form against him before he had even arrived. And I knew that wouldn’t be productive.” 

“You think I would have… gossiped? Trashed him to the other staff?” Harry had to admit himself offended that she would think such a thing of him, after all this time. “I would never have done something like that.” 

“I know, Harry,” the woman said gently. “I know you would not have done anything malicious. But even the truth of Mr. Malfoy’s history can influence… You know the kind of sway you have here. As a head of house, as a very well respected teacher, you know the staff and students both look to you for guidance. They model their behavior off of yours, and if there was any indication of a dislike on your part of Mr. Malfoy…” 

“But I don’t dislike him,” said Harry. “I have no opinion on him whatsoever.” 

She arched a skeptical brow. 

“I don’t,” he insisted. “Honestly. We haven’t… I haven’t even seen him in _years_. I don’t even really know him, what he’s like now.” 

“You might find yourself surprised,” Minerva replied with a small smile. “Just as he might find himself surprised by you.” 

“That may very well be true,” replied Harry. “So long as we…” He sighed. “I will keep an open mind, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll be a professional.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” she said. “But I suppose, in the end, I was hoping you could be… more than that.” 

Harry blinked at her.

“We’re a family here,” she said. “You know that full well. Professionalism is all well and good but my hope is that you will welcome him openly. My hope is that you will show him kindness. Merlin knows he…” She trailed off, closing her eyes, and Harry had to wonder what she wasn’t saying. “It would do him good to receive kindness from us, and if it comes from you, I believe it will mean even more.” 

Harry held back an incredulous snort of laughter. He doubted Draco Malfoy had any sort of emotional stake in Harry’s behavior toward him. And yet he could see Minerva’s point, at least in that being a new teacher at Hogwarts could be quite overwhelming. He remembered his own experience, and how the manner in which he was welcomed and mentored by the rest of the staff made such a difference to his success. Harry supposed that Malfoy deserved the same chance, the same welcome, at least. 

And there was more to it, he could tell. There was more that Minerva wasn’t saying about Malfoy’s circumstances, and that piqued Harry’s interest, in spite of himself. He found a strange curiosity surging inside himself about what this “new Malfoy” would be like. Perhaps he would be unrecognizable. Perhaps Harry really would find himself surprised.

“Very well. I’ll do my best,” he said. “When does he arrive?”

“Tomorrow. In time for the staff social.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll be there.”

The headmistress seemed satisfied, and she took her leave. Harry remained in his classroom, shaking his head and actually laughing a bit to himself.

_Draco bloody Malfoy_. What were the odds?

***

“Maybe when you’re home for Christmas we can go.” 

“I’d really like that, Ted,” Harry said, grinning at the boy’s excited face in the fire. “We’ll have to ask Gran when we get closer to the holidays.” 

“I can practice,” said Teddy. “I bet I can get really good.”

“I have no doubt,” said Harry. “You’re already decent on roller skates.” Ever since Harry had taken Teddy to one of those Muggle skating rinks a couple of months ago, the boy had been talking non-stop about trying it on ice as well. Harry didn’t see the harm, and, given Teddy’s natural athleticism, he was sure to pick it up quickly. But it was always best to ask Andromeda. She was already nervous enough with Teddy on a broom so young. 

The woman in question appeared in the fire only a moment later. “Harry, didn’t you say you had to be somewhere at 3?”

“Yes?”

“Well, it’s quarter past.”

“What?” Harry looked at the clock. _Bugger_. “Oh, Merlin, I really am late! I’m sorry, Ted, I’ve got to run.”

“That’s ok. Will you call me tomorrow?" 

“Sure thing. Right before dinner, all right? I love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

Teddy and Andromeda both waved goodbye and Harry closed the floo connection, hurrying to his feet. He’d really let time get away from him, though, in truth, he felt some quality time talking to his godson was more important than any staff social. He was going to be spending practically all of the next nine months with the Hogwarts staff and, as much as he loved them, he loved Teddy more. So he decided not to feel guilty about the extra fifteen minutes spent with him. 

He hurried to the staff room and found it already full of his fellow teachers, milling about with pumpkin juice or gillywater in their hands. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he said sheepishly as he was greeted with a cheer. “I got caught up on a floo call.”

No one seemed to mind, greeting him with hugs and handshakes. Harry leaned down to give Septima Vector a kiss on the cheek, and she asked him with a wink what lucky young man he had been so caught up with as to make himself late.

Harry laughed. The woman was always curious about his dating life and wondering when he was going to find someone to settle down with. Harry knew it only came from a place of love, though, so it didn’t bother him. “Teddy might consider himself lucky to have me as a godfather,” he answered, “but I will always think of myself as the lucky one.” 

“Ah,” she said, understanding. She gave him a small but warm smile. “How is the lad?” 

“Good,” Harry answered somewhat wistfully. “Sorry that the summer is over, I think.” 

“I’m sure he misses you.” 

Harry didn’t answer, not particularly wanting to dwell on it. There were others to greet anyway, so Harry gave her shoulder a light squeeze in goodbye and made his way through the room. He shook Gibbs’ hand and asked about his summer, saying he was looking forward to hearing about all of his travels. He nodded and smiled at Filch and Pince, both of whom seemed to respect him as a fellow staff member but had not taken much time to get to know him. He gave Rolanda Hooch a hug and reminisced with her about an exciting Harpies match they had both attended that summer. 

Eventually he had worked just about the whole room, although there was one professor he hadn’t spotted yet, and he was looking forward to talking with her. His eyes scanned about and found her in the far corner of the staff room, talking to-

Talking to Draco Malfoy.

He couldn’t help a small gasp of surprise, partially because he had honestly sort of forgotten, thanks to Teddy and rushing to get to the social, that the man was going to be in attendance.

But also because Malfoy really was, well, _different. _He was still tall and lanky, though he seemed even taller and perhaps a bit more muscular than his Hogwarts days. But he wasn’t nearly so pointy and angular as Harry remembered. There was a ghost of those shapes about his person, but it was as though he had grown into them, allowing them to soften just enough to be… quite striking. 

In truth, Harry realized as they caught each other’s eyes for the briefest of moments, Malfoy was quite fit. Almost… _painfully _handsome. One might even say beautiful.

It was a strange thought to have, but Harry decided to chock it up to that he hadn’t seen the man in seven years, and it probably shouldn’t have been surprising that he was good-looking. He had been rather good-looking in school too, actually, it was just that the perpetual sneer that Malfoy aimed in his direction rather ruined the effect. 

Malfoy wasn’t sneering now. If anything, he looked rather surprised himself, and it lent a wide-eyed, innocent quality to his face that made Harry’s stomach clench pleasantly.

Which was stupid, really. As if Malfoy would ever…

These thoughts were unproductive, and he cut them off quickly, making his feet move him across the room towards his friend and the new Potions Master. Francesca immediately noticed him.

“Harry,” she said warmly.

Harry bent down to kiss her cheek. “Francesca. You’re looking gorgeous as ever,” he told her. And she did, sun-kissed and healthy in a way Harry couldn’t help but be jealous of. “How was your summer?" 

“It was lovely,” she answered, giving him a smile that was quite bright, even for her. “I spent it in Tuscany with my family, as usual.”

Harry thought this a very funny thing for her to say, considering he _knew _already where she had been. But then he thought of whom she had just been talking to, and realized that this information, and the smile that accompanied it, was likely not for Harry’s benefit at all. It was for Malfoy’s. 

_Interesting. _Not that he could blame her. He had just been thinking how handsome Malfoy was himself.

“Of course,” Harry said, not about to call her out or tease her in front of their companion. “How’s the vineyard?”

“Doing very well. Papa says it’s going to be a very good year for Chianti.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ll have to reserve a case.”

“Oh, you should. I can set one aside for you if you’d like.”

“I would like that,” he answered, almost absently, automatically. He was realizing that more than the socially acceptable time had passed without Harry acknowledging Malfoy’s presence, and that he should probably do so. Only… he found he had no idea _how_. Did he just turn to the bloke, say, “Oh, right, Malfoy, good to see you. I heard you’d be joining us this year,” and hope he didn’t sound completely awkward or disingenuous? The wording seemed too canned to him, rehearsed, and he had no idea what to do about it.

Luckily Francesca rescued him from himself only a moment later.

“And, of course, you know Draco Malfoy,” she said. “He’s our new Potions Master.”

“Right, of course.” Harry jumped immediately on her words and made sure there was a real smile on his face when he turned to the blond. “Good to see you again, Malfoy,” he said, thanking Merlin he sounded sincere. He held out a hand for good measure.

Malfoy didn’t hesitate to take it, which Harry thought was a good sign. Still, as he thanked Harry and expressed his happiness in being at Hogwarts, his gray eyes searched Harry’s face as if trying to catch something in his expression. Harry kept his smile in place as best he could as he mentally scoured for some harmless topic of conversation he could breach, hoping this would end the uncomfortable scrutiny.

“How are your parents?” he settled on. “I will admit I haven’t heard any news of them in years.”

Malfoy hesitated for one surprised beat before he answered. “They are well. They’re living in France now.” 

“Oh, wonderful. Whereabouts?”

“The Malfoys have had a hidden estate in the Loire Valley for centuries,” the blond replied, his voice now a drawl that Harry found almost comfortingly familiar.

This really was Malfoy after all, then, and not some extra-attractive and strangely cautious doppelganger.

“Right,” said Harry, racking his brain. “That’s central France, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I was talking to someone recently who was telling me about how beautiful central France is,” Harry said, trying to fill in the gaps of Malfoy’s limited contribution and aware he was in great danger of starting to babble. “Most people go on and on about Paris, and Provence, and Nice, but in truth the central regions are equally beautiful. There are all these extinct volcanoes and everything is very green there, so I hear. And apparently they make very good cheese.” 

_Cheese, really? _he admonished himself. How asinine was he sounding right now? He looked at Francesca, praying she would jump in.

“And excellent wine,” Francesca said, seamlessly taking her cue and acting as though what Harry was going on about was perfectly reasonable.

“Well, you would know all about that,” Harry answered, giving her a grateful smile. He could run with this topic. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, Malfoy, but Francesca’s family are all winemakers. Her father and one of her aunts have their own vineyard in Tuscany.”

“How nice,” Malfoy murmured, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.

“They use a mix of magical and Muggle methods, as I understand it,” Harry went on, looking at Francesca. She nodded. “It’s really quite excellent. The best Chianti I’ve ever had. You should reserve a case yourself while they’re still available, if you are inclined toward medium-bodied reds.”

“Certainly,” Malfoy intoned unhelpfully.

“In fact, I’m sure we could scrounge up a bottle for you, if you would like to try it,” Harry pressed on, almost unable to help himself. “Do you have any of that 2001 left?” he asked his friend. “That was particularly good.”

“Not the 2001, I’m afraid,” said the brunette, sounding genuinely disappointed. “But I could still get ahold of a 2003, which was also an excellent year,” she added perking up. She aimed a demure smile in Malfoy’s direction. “If you were interested in trying it, Draco.” 

_Draco_. Her mouth wrapped very warmly around the name, and Harry’s suspicions were confirmed.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Malfoy replied graciously, meeting her eyes with genuine gratitude.

_Very interesting_, Harry thought. Malfoy was being perfectly civil to Harry, but his attentions aimed at Francesca were far more than that. Perhaps he fancied her in return.

Which was just as well, really. Harry knew he would be better off if Malfoy was clearly and unequivocally off-limits, for so many reasons. And it would be a boon for Francesca as well, who had, despite her manifold beauty and brains, found herself unexpectedly unlucky in love in recent years. If Malfoy really was a decent bloke now, that could mean good things for her if they got together. Much better results than what Harry and Malfoy would create themselves. Any decision to cross that line would surely result in disaster. 

If Malfoy was even remotely interested in men, which seemed unlikely.

“Is he what you expected?” Francesca asked him softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. Malfoy had just been snagged by Bathsheda Babbling and was now out of earshot, giving the two friends the perfect opportunity to discuss him. “You two knew each other in school, as I understand it.” 

“An understatement,” Harry said, chuckling. “And no, he wasn’t what I expected, though Minerva told me he would be different.” He glanced in Malfoy’s direction again to find him deep in conversation with the older witch, nodding along to what she was saying with a soft smile on his lips. There was true affection in his gaze as he looked at his former Ancient Runes professor, and the sight of it affected Harry more than he liked to admit. He turned back to Francesca. “I was keeping an open mind, per Minerva’s request,” he finished. “Which wasn’t difficult. I haven’t kept track of him in recent years, so I would have no way of knowing what he’s like now.” 

“I heard he got married,” Francesca said off-handedly. “But he’s not wearing a ring.”

“You couldn’t help but notice,” Harry teased.

Francesca went a bit pink and nudged him playfully. “I only meant that it’s strange. Divorce is very rare in pureblood circles.” 

“Perhaps your information was false. Perhaps he’s never been married.”

“Perhaps.”

“Either way, it appears he’s single now.”

“A lack of ring doesn’t tell you everything.”

“No, but you could always ask.”

Francesca shook her head and rolled her eyes affectionately. “We’ll just see what unfolds, shall we?”

They both glanced back at the new Potions Master as he was drawn into a conversation with Babbling and Vector, and Harry realized he still had no idea what to make of this new Malfoy.

_See what unfolds. _Yes, he supposed that was the best plan.

*** 

What unfolded, it turned out, was a rather normal start to the school year. The students’ energy was high and Harry managed it as usual with some fun but draining practical lessons as well as a decent amount of homework. After a couple of weeks of that their over-eagerness started to mellow, though Harry still had himself some very dedicated NEWT students and a handful of awed first years who never seemed to get used to the fact that _he _was their teacher.

On the surface, Draco Malfoy’s presence in the castle didn’t appear to change things very much for Harry. The blond had integrated quite seamlessly into the fabric of the staff and by all accounts the students were responding well to him. They’d had no major blow-ups or really any unpleasant interactions to speak of. When Harry didn’t give the issue too much thought, it was rather easy to ignore the potential strangeness of it, the weight of the history that hung over them.

However, when he _did _give it a lot of thought (over-thinking, Francesca might accuse him of), he suspected that the situation was not quite as easy as it appeared to be. The conversation from Malfoy’s end had a tendency to be overly polite, while Harry himself always felt like he was trying too hard to be friendly to Malfoy. He knew Minerva wanted him to make an effort, and he really was doing that. But sometimes he got the impression that the effort was unwelcome and that Malfoy just wanted to be left alone.

Left alone by Harry, at least. Malfoy got on very well with most of the staff and could be caught having animated discussions and sharing charming witticisms with all of them, Francesca most of all. And yet in conversations with Harry the man wasn’t quite so animated and didn’t feel a need to display his dry, ready humor. Harry was pretty sure no one else had noticed this, but _he _had noticed, and it bothered him the more he thought about it.

It was like he and Malfoy were in some sort of bizarre and cautious dance around each other, a pattern they were unwilling to break out of. It wasn’t a destructive pattern. It wasn’t a _problem_, really. And yet Harry couldn’t help wondering what it would be like if they could get over the weirdness between them, if they could be… friends. Because while at the moment their working relationship was perfectly functional, it was still… uncomfortable. And Harry didn’t want to spend the school year carrying around this discomfort. He wanted to get beyond it. And the only way he knew how to get beyond it was to move through it. But how would they do that?

That Friday he caught himself looking over the patrol schedule in the staff room, seeking out Malfoy’s name. No Friday patrol, just like Harry. It was an opportunity, and he resolved to seize it. Whether or not he could get Malfoy to do the same was another matter. 

He decided seeking out Malfoy in his classroom was the best way. Classes would be out and they could chat alone. Harry had no interest in offering this invitation with others listening in, and he suspected Malfoy would resent him for giving him the pressure of an audience as well.

The downside of having no audience, of course, was that Malfoy would find it easier to refuse. But maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe Harry could convince him.

In the Potions corridor he passed a number of fourth year students, all with intermediate Potionmaking textbooks in their hands, and he knew that Malfoy’s last class had released for the day. With a deep breath and a solidifying determination he made his way down the corridor, waving to students as he passed.

He was just turning the corner towards the actual classroom when he nearly ran headlong into an apparent straggler.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Raisie McNeal said breathlessly. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Not a problem, Miss McNeal,” he replied, looking down at her and noticing her flushed face. “Is everything all right?”

To his utter surprise, the student beamed at him. “Everything is wonderful, actually. I’m just a little in shock right now, I suppose.” 

“In shock?”

“Professor Malfoy, he…”

Harry furrowed his brow, wondering what McNeal was going to say. What had Malfoy done?

“…he told me that my experiment with the Galerina in class today was inspired, and that I should use my theory as the starting point for my NEWT research. And he thinks I’m ready to start on it _now_, can you believe that?”

“Extraordinary,” Harry murmured.

“I’ve just never had someone… _see _me like that before,” she said. “I mean, Slughorn used to give me good marks, but he never took the time… I just can’t believe…” She laughed. “Sorry. Like I said, I’m still in shock.” 

“But a good shock, at least,” Harry said smilingly, genuinely happy for McNeal. She did work incredibly hard, but her natural quietness in the classroom meant she could be overlooked by her peers and some of the professors.

“Definitely,” she replied. “I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but Professor Malfoy is honestly the best professor I’ve ever had. I’m so glad he’s here.” Her eyes widened and her cheeks reddened further as she remembered whom she was talking to. “I mean… not to say that you aren’t brilliant as well, Professor Potter, that’s not-“ 

Harry laughed. “I am not at all offended, Miss McNeal. I’m just glad you finally have a Potions teacher who is going to push you the way you deserve to be pushed. It sounds like a promising beginning.”

“I hope so,” she said with a grateful smile. She looked back behind her, towards the half-open classroom door. “I suppose I should get going.”

“Of course,” said Harry, stepping aside to let her pass. “Enjoy your weekend.”

“Thanks, Professor. You too.”

Harry stood there a moment, lost in thought as McNeal rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

It wasn’t as though Harry thought Malfoy was still a blood purist. Minerva would never have hired him if he still held onto those kinds of beliefs. But one could be fair-minded in the classroom without going out of their way to help Muggleborn students. That level of special encouragement aimed at such a student – and a Gryffindor no less – did surprise him. Either Malfoy really had changed considerably or he had some other agenda. 

Harry shook his head, snorting to himself in disbelief. He had no interest in being paranoid about Malfoy’s intentions again. That had only landed him in trouble in the past, even if he had been right. He was an adult now, and he knew how to learn from his mistakes. 

If anything, he was even more intrigued by Malfoy than he was before. He turned back towards the classroom and made his way to the door.

Lurking in the doorway, he had a clear view of Malfoy at his desk. He was standing, looking over some papers with a wide, warm smile on his face. It was completely unself-conscious, and Harry felt like he was gazing at a secret, that familiar lurch in his stomach again. 

He couldn’t explain what it was about Malfoy smiling, but it really got to him. 

“Good week?” he asked, opening the door just a little more to make himself fully visible.

Malfoy looked up at him, and the smile immediately dropped from his face. “Come again?” he asked, his voice flat.

Harry took only a moment to mourn the change and the fact that he was undoubtedly the cause of it. “I asked if it had been a good week,” he repeated gamely. That was why he was there, right, to see if he could find some way to get Malfoy to warm to him? “You were smiling, so I thought perhaps it was.”

Malfoy watched him a moment, as if he wasn’t sure how to answer. “Yes,” he said finally, carefully. “It was a very good week.”

“I’m glad to hear it. It seems like you’re settling in nicely.”

Malfoy seemed to chew on that before nodding mutely.

“I just passed Raisie McNeal on my way here,” Harry made himself go on, despite no invitation to do so. _Merlin, he can still be so difficult sometimes_, he thought, but quickly tamped down his frustration. “She was positively glowing. She says you’re the best professor she’s ever had, and you’re giving her the opportunity to do NEWT level work.” 

Malfoy’s gaze sharpened noticeably. “It’s her doing, not mine,” he answered. “She’s already naturally advanced. I just thought I’d help her take advantage of it.”

“Yes, she’s quite talented, isn’t she?” Harry said, happy to find some common ground. “She’s doing exceptional work in my class as well. But I have a feeling she likes Potions better than Defense. She loves to read and research. Reminds me a lot of Hermione, actually.”

“Yes, except unlike Granger Miss McNeal doesn’t have to make sure everyone knows how intelligent she is all the time.”

Harry felt himself take a breath, surprised. It was the first small sign of antagonism he’d gotten from the Slytherin since his return to Hogwarts, and he wasn’t sure entirely what to do with it. At least, until he saw a momentary widening of Malfoy’s eyes, as if realizing what he’d just said. 

_Old habits die hard, don’t they? _he thought, with some amusement. He let out the breath, turning it into a laugh. Perhaps the best thing to do was make light of this.

“Very true. Hermione really did have a habit of that sometimes, didn’t she? I remember how she used to be so intent on being called on to answer a question that she would practically stand up in her chair trying to be noticed.” The image of her flashed in Harry’s mind, and he couldn’t help the surge of brotherly affection that followed.

Malfoy let out a small huff that one _might _be able to mistake for a laugh. “How is Granger, these days?” he asked conversationally.

Harry tried to recover quickly from Malfoy _actually _attempting some small talk with him, answering eagerly. “She’s great. She works at the Ministry, as does Ron, though she’s a solicitor and he’s an Auror. They’re married now, and talking about children, maybe.”

Unfortunately, the friendliness appeared to be short-lived. Malfoy’s expression closed as he uttered one dull word. “Lovely.” 

This was followed by silence, Malfoy not meeting his eyes.

_Shit_. Harry wasn’t sure where to go from here. The blond was still as much of an enigma as ever.

_May as well cut to the chase. _He had come there with a purpose, though the possibility of Malfoy agreeing still seemed bleak. 

“So, look, I, um…” _Merlin, this shouldn’t be so difficult_. “I noticed you aren’t on duty tonight, and I’m not either, and I was wondering if you’d fancy grabbing a drink in Hogsmeade with me.”

Malfoy stared at him in bewilderment, which was about what Harry had expected, frankly. He waited, taking steady breaths to manage his nerves.

“A drink. With you,” the Slytherin reiterated blankly.

“That’s right.”

“And no one else.”

“Yes.” 

Malfoy’s brow furrowed. “_Why?_”

It was almost funny, the utter disbelief in Malfoy’s voice. “It’s, uh…” Harry tried to reply, interrupting himself with a few nervous chuckles. It was a legitimate question actually, and one Harry wasn’t entirely sure how to answer.

_Because Minerva asked me to be kind to you._

_Because you treat me differently than everyone else, and it’s irritating._

_Because you’re actually rather fit and interesting and I’d like to get to know you better._

All true, and yet none of them answers Malfoy would want to hear.

“You have to admit, it’s just a little… strange, us being here, together, colleagues, and all,” he ventured, finally. “And what with the way things used to be, in school. I just… I’d really like to put that chapter of my life behind me in every way. Seeing you… has… brought back some of it for me and I’d like to move forward instead of backward, if that makes any sense. I’d like to move on.”

Yes, all right, good. That sounded reasonable, if not a little stilted in its delivery.

Malfoy was staring again, although the bewilderment had given way to something else, something just a little uneasier and a little more vulnerable than before.

“I can tell you’re uncomfortable too. Even though you’re handling it very well,” Harry added quickly, as it seemed Malfoy was in danger of closing off his expression again. “But I thought… well, I’ve seen what can happen when two Hogwarts professors don’t get on,” he went on, thinking suddenly of Remus and Snape. It _would _be a problem if their relationship devolved into that level of dysfunctionality. “It can become a pretty toxic environment for the students. I don’t want that to happen. And I also… well, with the way things were left after the war, it seemed like maybe there was an opening for us… I’m not saying we’ll wind up best mates or anything. But we could at least be friendly.” 

He had outright shocked Malfoy now, he could tell. It was as though the notion of being friends had never crossed the blond’s mind, which Harry couldn’t help but think was a bit ironic, considering that their entire rivalry had begun because of Malfoy’s offer of friendship that Harry had chosen to decline, all those years ago. 

Harry had no idea what to make of Malfoy’s impassive mask or the silence that pervaded the room. The only thing he could think to do, really, was ask again. 

“So what do you say, Malfoy? One drink? Don’t worry, I’m buying.”

Malfoy’s mask cracked, finally, though it was only with derision. “I have an entire Malfoy fortune with which to buy myself firewhiskey, Potter, thank you very much.”

The answer was patently ridiculous in its haughtiness, and yet so very Mafloy-esque that Harry found it rather funny, if not also disheartening. “Fine then,” he riposted, wondering if he should give up entirely. “You’re buying.”

To his utter shock, Malfoy actually _laughed_. It was a surprised bark of a laugh that the blond stifled quickly, but it was most definitely a laugh all the same. 

And Harry had to admit he found it rather miraculous. 

“Fine. One drink,” Malfoy conceded. “You pay.”

“Excellent,” Harry replied. The miracles just kept coming. “Meet at the Three Broomsticks at nine?”

“Sure. Nine o’clock.” 

Harry left then, not wanting to give Malfoy a chance to change his mind. He thought it best not to push his luck, considering he’d gotten much luckier than he expected already.

There was a part of him that wanted to rebel, to insist that he shouldn’t have to work this hard just to convince someone to be friendly to him. If Malfoy wanted to be an awkward git around him all the time, that was his prerogative.

But Minerva’s request was also ringing in his head, reminding him that there was likely more to Malfoy and his behavior than met the eye. And then there was Malfoy himself, at once guarded and yet also clearly different from the boy Harry had once known. Gifted at his job, genial with his colleagues, kind to his Muggleborn students…

Harry wanted to know _that _Malfoy. He wanted to see what layers were hidden under there, what he could uncover with a little patience and finesse. 

He wasn’t entirely sure _how _he was going to make that happen, but he was determined to.

***

Twenty minutes in, and it was actually going better than expected. Malfoy had actually shown up, for one thing. Harry had counted that as yet another victory on its own. He knew when he had sat down in the pub with a whiskey in hand that there was still a very good chance that he would be stood up. It was why he had brought a book with him, just in case.

But Malfoy had shown, albeit a bit late, and was now sitting across from Harry, nursing a firewhiskey and actually making an effort at conversation. He still had a bit of a guard up, but not enough to make him unpleasant company. He’d given Harry more than one word answers to his questions and asked some questions of his own. He’d even acted interested in Harry’s replies and looked like he was almost smiling once or twice.

So, progress.

At the moment they were discussing what they had been up to since the end of the war, Malfoy’s expression containing just a hint of wistfulness as he talked about achieving a mastery in Potions and considering going into research.

“I never published anything,” he said, and Harry thought he could catch some regret in his tone. “It never got that far.”

“You lost interest?” Harry asked, curious as to where that regret was coming from.

“I got married,” Malfoy replied, almost in surprise. “And that…” He frowned in thought. “…distracted me, you could say, from my work.”

So he _was _married, at least at one point. Francesca might find that information useful. Harry glanced automatically to the blond’s ring finger, though he already knew he would find it empty. Francesca’s observations had told him as much.

“I’m not married anymore,” said Malfoy, drawing Harry’s eyes back to his face. He was smirking in wry amusement. “Obviously.”

“I had wondered,” Harry admitted, before realizing there was a window of opportunity here he didn’t want to pass up. “Or really, Francesca had wondered, and she told me about it. She’d thought she’d heard something about you being married, but then she noticed you weren’t wearing a ring.”

“And you and Professor Bianchi were discussing my personal life why?”

“I thought that was obvious,” Harry said, deciding to go for broke. Francesca would either thank him or murder him for this, depending on if it landed her Malfoy in the end or not. “Francesca fancies you.” Malfoy looked at Harry as though this was news to him, and perhaps it was. Harry shrugged. “Seems obvious to me, at any rate.” He picked up his whiskey glass, still watching the blond. 

Malfoy appeared to not believe him. “I had thought… perhaps… you and she…”

It was lucky Harry hadn’t actually taken a sip of whiskey yet, or it would have been in danger of coming out his nose as he choked on a surprised laugh. “Me and Francesca?” What was Malfoy on about?

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” said Malfoy, stiffening his posture. “Is it really that absurd, the notion of dating a Slytherin?”

Was Malfoy serious? Had he honestly forgotten that Harry only liked men? “It’s not that. It’s just… you know… she’s a _woman_,” Harry said pointedly, since it seemed Malfoy needed reminding. “Not exactly my type.” 

The Slytherin still didn’t seem to get it, though. And that made Harry wonder. Was it possible Malfoy had no idea, had never known? 

“I’m gay,” he said, watching Malfoy carefully.

Malfoy’s eyes widened, but otherwise he had no response. Harry believed the surprise was genuine, and he wasn’t sure if he should be amused or worried. The reaction reminded him of what he had seen in the early days, right after he came out. He’d gotten a kick out of the public’s shock then, just as he was getting a bit of one out of Malfoy’s now. 

At the same time, though, Harry had no way of knowing Malfoy’s beliefs on homosexuality, and he realized there was a chance, given his pureblood upbringing, that the blond could have an issue with it. Of course, if he turned out to be anti-gay he could fuck right off, as far as Harry was concerned. He didn’t waste his time on people like that. But he and Malfoy did have to work together either way, and it could cause some problems.

“Sorry, I assumed you knew,” he said, to gauge Malfoy’s reaction.

“And why would I know something like that?” the blond replied incredulously, almost accusingly.

“Just about everyone else does,” said Harry. “The press had an absolute field day when I first came out. Which was years ago, by the way, when I was still an Auror,” he added, just to make it clear how behind the times Mafloy was. Harry was not about to take responsibility for not _properly disclosing _the information or any such nonsense. “And the _Prophet_ still likes to report when I’m spotted out on a date, although thankfully it’s not front page news anymore.”

“I haven’t read the _Prophet_ in years,” Malfoy murmured, more thoughtfully than defensively. “Or much media at all.”

“Well, there you are, then. I like men. Exclusively.”

“But you dated girls at Hogwarts,” Malfoy argued, returning his eyes to Harry. “I remember you at least pairing up with the youngest Weasley for a while.”

Harry’s mouth twisted, knowing Malfoy did have a bit of a point there, especially if he had actually missed Harry’s coming out to the world as he claimed to have done. “Yes, I did, sixth year. I thought… well, the idea that I could be gay didn’t cross my mind at all, back then, to tell you the truth. And I always cared about Ginny, and I sort of confused protective, brotherly feelings for romantic ones. Sex wasn’t much on my mind at all, at the time, which I recognize is odd for a teenage boy. But I _did_ have some other things going on, as you may remember. Voldemort took a lot of my focus.” 

A lot of people hadn’t bought that explanation when he first gave it, though it was the truth. Part of the problem was that many people seemed to think of gay men as overtly sexual, as though they weren’t allowed to have any priorities or concerns other than getting laid. It was very annoying. 

And yes, Harry had quite a bit of sex now, and had since he came out. But that was because he could finally _enjoy _it, now that he wasn’t constantly fearing for his life. But he wasn’t sure Malfoy would believe him.

The blond didn’t _look _skeptical at least. He appeared to merely be thinking that over, and it gave Harry hope. Malfoy wasn’t fleeing in disgust or accusing Harry of asking him for drinks under false pretenses, which was a good sign. 

“You’re not going to go running for the door now, are you?” Harry said, thinking maybe it was safe to infuse some humor into his voice. “Because surely you know better than to think I asked you for drinks with romantic overtures in mind. The invitation was strictly platonic.”

His stomach clenched a little at the half-truth. The invitation _had _been platonic, true. Harry certainly didn’t expect Malfoy to be interested. 

But if it turned out that, by some fluke, Malfoy also happened to like cock, well…

_Nope. Don’t even go there. _He shut down his wayward thoughts as he saw the blond arch an amused eyebrow. 

“Now I’m sitting here wondering if I should be insulted,” Malfoy replied, and, though his tone still carried a haughty edge, there was also something else in it, something a bit warmer than before. “I’m not good enough for the Great Harry Potter, then?”

Harry was both surprised and please that it appeared Malfoy was willing to joke about this. “Not _gay_ enough for the Great Harry Potter, I would think.”

“And just how _gay_ do you like them?” the blond asked, leaning forward. There was no mistaking it now. Malfoy’s tone was definitely different, infused with amusement, warmth, and even a bit of… suggestiveness. Harry smiled widely, showing all his teeth in that way he knew made men weak in the knees. 

“Oh, I have a… broad range of tastes. So if I’m wrong about you, by all means, enlighten me.” He tossed in a playful wink for good measure. He knew he was walking a fine line here. And yet Malfoy had already invited it by asking the question in the first place, and Harry found he couldn’t help himself. 

Malfoy simply turned his head, as though he didn’t want Harry to catch his involuntarily smile. He turned back after a moment. “So who is the lucky wizard then? Surely the Great Harry Potter already has a lover.” 

Harry hesitated, chewing on his lip. He probably should have expected the question. It was just strange, because pretty much all of the wizarding world knew about his dating habits, and it had been a long time since he’d had to explain it to anyone. He wasn’t sure how honest he should be.

Then again, Malfoy had asked.

“I don’t have… _a_ lover, really,” Harry said finally, deciding to play it a bit coy. 

For a moment he wasn’t sure Malfoy would get it. Then understanding sparked behind his eyes, suddenly. “More than one?” he asked.

“A fair few,” Harry replied nonchalantly, finishing off his whiskey and wondering how Malfoy would respond.

“Well, well, well, this _is_ interesting,” Malfoy said, and he did sound genuinely intrigued. “The Great Harry Potter sleeps around.”

Harry felt the corners of his mouth turn down slightly, perhaps because he was starting to tire of this “Great Harry Potter” epithet, but also because he wasn’t wild about that characterization. “Sleeping around” carried a negative connotation that he didn’t think was entirely fair. Then again, he didn’t have to let it be negative if he didn’t want to. “Yes,” he confirmed with a smile, but fully prepared to qualify it. “But it’s all very above board, you know. All of my partners know we’re not exclusive, and they see other people as well. We’re all clear with each other, and we’re careful. I’m no liar, and I’m no cheat.”

“Never said you were,” Malfoy answered immediately, seemingly aware that they were venturing into potentially fraught territory. He didn’t sound inclined to antagonize Harry about it, at any rate, and that made Harry relax. “So how many is a ‘fair few,’ if you don’t mind me asking?” Malfoy said instead.

Harry thought that over before answering. In truth, he never kept a running count, so it was hard to be sure. “It depends. They sort of come and go. I date less during the school year, for obvious reasons. Usually there are… maybe three or four that I see on occasion. During the summer I go out multiple times a week, so it’s a bit more than that.” 

“A bit more?”

“Like, twice as many.” Or maybe more. Or less. Harry wondered briefly if it was the sort of thing he was supposed to be keeping track of. It just varied so much, and there were men he only ended up having a few dates with, and men he saw every now and then for a number of months, or even as long as a year. It wasn’t like he carried around a little black book or made notches on his bedpost to count his conquests. It wasn’t like that. The numbers were irrelevant. 

“And you’re content with the press just… reporting on all of that,” said Malfoy, as though he found that hard to believe.

Harry laughed, acknowledging what was a quite valid point. “They report on the wizards I date. But I also date a lot of Muggles, and the press doesn’t know about those.”

Malfoy didn’t really answer, only hummed and stared at Harry as though he had suddenly become infinitely more interesting. And maybe, to Malfoy, he had. Harry very much doubted consensual polyamory was all that common in the pureblood world, and Harry’s lifestyle probably seemed very novel to him.

“It works for me now,” Harry went on, unsure if Malfoy was hoping for more of an explanation but deciding to give him one anyway. “I think I’ve earned the right to have a little fun, and do what I like to do. I know wizarding Britain, including many of my friends, would be happier if I settled down, got married, started a family.” He thought of Hermione’s blatant nagging, Ron’s not-so-subtle hints at how nice married life was, colleagues like Septima Vector asking after his “boyfriends” and if any of them were serious prospects. He knew they all meant well, but it didn’t change the fact that they didn’t really _understand_. “But it’s not their life; it’s mine. And I’m not ready for that yet. I like keeping my options open. I like focusing on my teaching and spending time with the people who know me best. I haven’t met a partner I trust that much yet, to really make them a part of my life. But I also like sex. So…” 

“It works for you,” Malfoy echoed, his tone free of any derision or judgment.

“Exactly,” Harry said, pleasantly surprised yet again. Who knew it would be a conversation about Harry’s sexuality that would finally get Malfoy to loosen up?

Of course, there was a chance the alcohol had something to do with it as well, Harry had to acknowledge. He glanced down at their two glasses on the table, noticing they were both empty.

_One drink_. That had been all that the blond had promised him. And yet Harry couldn’t help but feel that they were just getting started.

“What do you say, then?” he ventured. “Another round?” 

It was a test of sorts, as much as an offer, to see if Malfoy was just tolerating him or actually enjoying his company. Harry stood up, reaching for his empty glass to bring back to the bar, hoping this would spur a response. 

Malfoy’s smile was small as he pushed his glass in Harry’s direction, but it was a true smile nonetheless. “Sure. Another round,” he said.

“Great,” said Harry, strangely elated. He picked up Malfoy’s glass as well. “I’ll be right back.”

When Harry returned with more firewhiskey only minutes later, Malfoy was already armed with questions, though none relating to Harry’s dating life. He was apparently ready for some gossip, wanting to know what the Hogwarts staff had been up to in the past five years and if there was anything particularly juicy to report. Harry entertained him with that for a bit, and conversation flowed easily from there as they sat and stretched out their second firewhiskeys for another hour.

Now that the walls were down, Harry felt like he was learning more about Malfoy in one evening than he had learned in the past fourteen years. There were some things that were unsurprising, like the fact that the Slytherin was highly opinionated on just about everything, whether it was pedagogy in education or which Quidditch team deserved the most support. The man was hard to sway, having a quick response to even the most reasonable of arguments.

Part of it seemed to be that he just enjoyed arguing. His eyes were bright as he talked, his tone fervent, his gestures expressive. As the evening went on Harry caught himself smiling more and more widely, just watching him. 

The man had a sense of humor too, however. Harry had caught glimpses of it in the past few weeks, but he was getting the full force of it now. It was dry, sarcastic, and frequently at Harry’s expense, but the Gryffindor found he didn’t mind that so much. All he had to do was toss an affectionate accusation of “prat” or “git” in Malfoy’s direction and the blond would laugh, take a sip of whiskey, and grin at Harry, his eyes twinkling. 

It did things to Harry, every time Malfoy looked at him like that, and he knew he had to be careful. Malfoy was a bit of a flirt, it turned out, though Harry knew better than to read anything into it. It seemed to come naturally to the Slytherin, an inherent charm that was at once teasing and coy, with enough genuine warmth to keep a person hooked. 

The fact that he was almost absurdly beautiful, with those intense gray eyes, silky hair, shapely lips, elegant hands… well, that hardly helped matters. Harry was realizing, as the night came to a close and they prepared to head back to the castle, that he was in great danger of liking Malfoy much, much more than he should. Which had the potential to be a major problem.

It was highly likely that Malfoy was straight, or at least heavily female-leaning. Francesca, one of his dear friends, had already developed quite the crush on the Slytherin, and Harry didn’t want to interfere with that. And, even of the rest weren’t true, there was no way, absolutely no way, Malfoy would ever go for him. Flirting was one thing, but actually _dating _Harry… the brunet could not imagine Malfoy being willing to set aside their differences enough for that. He’d only recently started even tolerating Harry, in fact.

So, as they walked up to the castle, chatting idly, Harry reminded himself to be realistic, told himself _not _to think about how if this were a date, it would have been the best date he’d had in a long time. And he definitely, _definitely _shouldn’t be thinking about flattening Malfoy against the nearest upright surface and ravishing that pretty mouth of his.

No. He definitely shouldn’t be thinking about that at all.

Which was why, when they finally reached the entrance hall and their conversation had naturally petered off, Harry made himself quickly and efficiently end the evening. The pat he gave to Malfoy’s shoulder felt strange and overly gruff (he was used to displaying affection more gently, these days), but he did it anyway. 

_Just two men out for a drink, trying to learn how to get along_, that pat on the shoulder seemed to be trying to prove. _Absolutely no sexual tension here. No sir._

It was possible he was overcompensating a bit.

Malfoy didn’t seem to see anything amiss in it, though, and he returned Harry’s farewell with a friendly one of his own. They parted ways in silence, Harry determined to find a way to go to bed without his thoughts full of Malfoy. That would only lead to trouble.

***

Harry was actually rather successful, at least until he awoke the next morning with an almost obnoxiously stiff erection. Not that morning wood was a rarity for the Gryffindor; he had a rather active libido, after all.

But it _was _a bit more painful than usual, the kind that begged to be taken care of, and Harry knew there was nothing for it. With a roll of his eyes he reached a hand under the sheets and grasped it firmly.

He was very efficient at tossing one off, when he needed to be. Sometimes a nice, leisurely wank was what was called for, but he knew in this case that if he took his time, he would start imagining things he wasn’t supposed to be imagining. 

Like Malfoy spread out naked on his bed, his usually immaculate hair sexily disheveled, his lithe back arching. Malfoy biting his lip demurely, begging silently for Harry to take his pretty pink cock into his mouth. His eyes rolling back in pleasure, his lips releasing an erotic moan, when Harry finally did. Heavy breathing, long, agile fingers gripping into dark hair. Delicate features contorting in pleasure as he finally, finally came down the Gryffindor’s throat with an unabashed crying of Harry’s name.

“_Fuck_,” Harry whispered to the air as he climaxed. He threw an arm over his eyes, as though this would let him hide from his own stupidity. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck._”

He was already annoyingly attracted to the conundrum that was Draco Malfoy, and wanking to thoughts of him was not going to help him manage that attraction. He knew better, and yet he couldn’t seem to help himself. 

What was it about Malfoy anyway? he wondered bitterly. Harry’d always had more self-control than this. 

_I need a date. A real date_, he thought as he waved his wand and vanished the mess on his stomach. _It’s just been too long, that’s all._

It _had _been a while. He hadn’t been out with anyone since the start of term, in fact, too busy focusing on his classes and students to worry about his sex life.

Too busy thinking about how to get Malfoy to like him. Stupid, really.

A date was what he needed, a nice conversation with someone who _actually _enjoyed being around him, some flirty banter, some making bedroom eyes across a table. And then an enthusiastic fuck in someone’s bed. Some dirty talk, a blowjob or two. A hot shower afterwards. Maybe a rimming, just for good measure.

Yes, that would put him to rights. But who should he ask? 

He immediately thought of Callum Foster, that adorable Ravenclaw he’d been out with twice now. The man had mentioned, not long before Harry left for Hogwarts, wanting to schedule another go. 

He might be just what Harry needed. He was versatile, pliant. He liked when Harry took charge, and he was up for just about anything.

Harry resolved to owl him that very day. With any luck he’d have something scheduled for as early as next weekend. And then his problem would be solved.

And, in the meantime, he had to just act normal around Malfoy.

*** 

Harry awoke slowly the morning after his date with Callum, his body satisfied, the smell of sex on his sheets. The bed was empty, the Ravenclaw having snuck out in the early hours of the morning. Harry stretched his limbs against the cool sheets, thinking it was just as well.

His body was quite satisfied, yes, but now his brain was whirring.

It had been, by any measure, a successful date. Callum was pleasant company; smart, cheeky, a good conversationalist. He didn’t take most things all that seriously, and Harry liked that in a casual partner. It had been a little nerve-racking sneaking him into Hogwarts. It wasn’t his usual practice, but Callum was in the midst of moving flats and didn’t have anywhere to take Harry home to.

They’d made it work, though. Harry had a gotten a very enjoyable blowjob in the corridor outside his quarters (heavily warded of course; he wasn’t trying to get sacked), and then had quite a bit of fun tormenting just about every inch of Callum’s body until the younger wizard was begging desperately to be fucked. By then Harry was ready to go once more, and was more than happy to give in. 

He’d had a good time, all told, managing to scratch an itch with someone he liked quite a bit and would normally be planning to see again.

Only… he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be seeking a next time, and he wasn’t sure Callum would be either. When it came to what Harry liked, he found them very sexually compatible. But Callum was starting to reveal some other interests in their play, walking the edge of things Harry didn’t particularly care for.

He definitely had a humiliation kink, that was becoming clear. He referred to himself as a whore or a slut multiple times, and tried to encourage Harry to do the same. Harry was willing to indulge his partners a little bit in that, but it did nothing for him. Harry had always gotten off on praise much more than humiliation, both giving and receiving. He understood, intellectually at least, why embarrassment could be arousing in some circumstances. But he’d had enough humiliation as a child to last a lifetime; he had no interest in including it in his sex life. 

Beyond that, Callum also liked pain play, something Harry had been peripherally aware of when they first got together. But he hadn’t understood to what extent until the night previously.

“You can hit me harder next time, if you want,” Callum had said after they shagged, his arse still a tender pink from the spankings Harry had given him before and during. Harry didn’t mind that – actually kind of liked it, sometimes – but he didn’t want to have to beat on his partners to get them going. “Or, once we get a chance to go to mine again, I have a cane you can use instead.” He bit his lip and looked at Harry seductively, as though nothing would make him happier.

That had been the nail in the coffin. Again, Harry could understand in an academic way why some enjoyed BDSM so much. There were elements that Harry himself liked and would incorporate into his practices on occasion. Light bondage, edging, coming on command… they didn’t make him wild with lust, but they were fun.

But _real _pain… that was different. Even the thought of picking up a cane, or a paddle, or, worst of all, a belt, and brandishing it at a partner made him a little sick. Vernon Dursley, his face purple and twisted in hatred, his large body looming over Harry, one arm raised high and ready to strike… Well, nothing deflated an erection faster than _that _image. And it was that image that came to him every time he thought about using those sorts of objects on a partner. He just couldn’t help it.

It had become abundantly clear to Harry, by the time Callum was dressing and preparing to leave, that he could not give the Ravenclaw everything he was looking for. Though there was a chance Callum wouldn’t mind. He clearly could enjoy vanilla as well, and Harry also knew that Callum had other partners who were likely fulfilling his other needs. 

But Harry wasn’t sure he could see the point in continuing if he would always know, in the back of his mind, that there was more Callum wanted that Harry couldn’t give him. Harry guessed that it would leave him feeling rather inadequate, and that was an unpleasant thought.

_Making sure my partners are having a good time, I suppose_, Harry had said only a few days ago, when Malfoy had asked what sort of things Harry was “into.” Pleasing his partners, making them beg for more. 

He’d actually found it rather difficult to answer, at first, which was odd. With all his experience… he _did _know what he liked, of course. Yet it was possible he didn’t spend all that much time actually thinking about it. He thought about what his partners wanted more. 

His Mind Healer from five years ago would tell him it was because he had been conditioned his entire life to subvert his own needs for the sake of others, and he would probably (annoyingly) be right. Harry had to be constantly mindful of that habit and do a lot of extra work to remember to be a little selfish sometimes, or to find a balance between what he needed and what someone else needed. He was good at it now, but it did require work.

And he did still really, really like it when he knew he was giving someone the best sex of their life. That, he couldn’t deny. Maybe it was that competitive streak of his, or his praise kink in one of its many manifestations, or something else entirely. Who was to say? He wasn’t sure it mattered, in the end. He had answered Malfoy’s question as honestly as he could, and, based on the blond’s reaction, it had been a sufficient answer.

_I wonder what Malfoy’s into_, his mind supplied unhelpfully, adding a number of images of the Slytherin in the throes of pleasure, just to torture him.

_Women, probably_, another voice within him argued as he rolled his eyes at himself. _So just give it up already, you stupid, horny prat._

The thing was, he wasn’t really that horny at the moment. He and Callum had taken care of his physical needs quite effectively. Any craving in his gut was utterly gone, at least for the time being.

And yet he was still thinking about Malfoy. And sex. And sex with Malfoy. And he had no idea what he was supposed to do about that.

He’d never been in this situation before. He’d felt passing attraction to men who were straight or otherwise unavailable; that happened sometimes. But Harry’s libido had a pragmatic side, and his interest soon faded as their lack of availability immediately rendered them less attractive to him. 

So what was it about Malfoy? It couldn’t just be that he was pretty. Lots of men were pretty. It couldn’t just be his competence, charm, and biting wit. He’d known other men with those things too.

It was something else. An X-factor. Some mysterious quality that kept Harry drawn to the blond despite himself, despite the fact that, given their history, he ought to be the last person on the planet that Harry would want.

He wondered if putting in so much effort to befriend Malfoy was a mistake. The man clearly would have been fine with remaining his mere acquaintance and work colleague. But now Harry had opened that door, and Malfoy was being perfectly friendly to him, much warmer than before. He smiled and laughed more easily in conversation; he asked Harry personal questions. Harry _thought _that was what he wanted. 

But now he couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting more, and it was affecting his behavior. Making him seek Malfoy out in obvious ways, making him casually mention that he had a date, just to see Malfoy’s reaction, making him talk openly and rather flirtatiously about his sex life. 

(Though, again, Malfoy _had _asked. Why did he keep asking?)

Harry was having a hard enough time acting normal around him, and Malfoy was only making it more difficult. The playful banter, the mild flirting, the small hints of bicuriosity… none of it was helping matters.

If only Malfoy would just ask out Francesca and be done with it, Harry thought, frustrated. He wasn’t sure what was taking so long. He’d outright told the blond that Francesca liked him. He’d pointed out windows of opportunity for them to grab drinks together. Yet Malfoy was hesitating. Could Harry have read the signs wrong? Had it just been wishful thinking on his part, his hope for happiness for his friend combined with a need for Malfoy to be made completely out of his reach?

He couldn’t be sure. All he knew was, he had to find some way to get over this little infatuation. And if neither Malfoy nor Francesca were going to help him in that regard, he was going to figure out how to do it himself. 

***

Harry sighed, running his fingers through his hair and bracketing yet another passage of the essay he was currently reading. It was, like many of paragraphs before it, copied almost verbatim from another student’s essay for the same assignment. The two students had obviously done their writing together, hoping, naively, that Harry wouldn’t notice the similarities.

He couldn’t be sure which student had copied the other, though he had his suspicions. It didn’t matter, though. They were both culpable, and Harry pulled out the other offending essay from the stack.

_THIS IS COPIED. SEE ME AFTER CLASS, _he wrote on both parchments in bold red ink.

Some overlap in language here and there he could ignore (he had been guilty of as much in his school days), but this, this called for a stern talking to and a couple of detentions. As loath as he was to dole out that sort of thing.

He barely heard the quiet _thunk _of a door closing, but the click of a lock got his attention. He looked from the essays to see none other than Draco Malfoy standing on the other side of his classroom, a closed door behind him.

“Malfoy,” he said, surprised. This was a first, he was pretty sure. Usually it was Harry seeking him out rather than the other way around. And he had been trying to do that less the last couple of days, wanting to avoid letting his attraction to the blond intensify any further. Still, he couldn’t help but be curious about what Malfoy might want from him. 

That curiosity only grew as Malfoy stood staring at him silently before walking toward him. His expression was sober and a bit pinched, and Harry’s curiosity gave way to concern. Had something happened? If it was an emergency, or something with a student, surely Draco would have gotten to the point already.

Yet still he said nothing, stopping in front of Harry’s desk while Harry stared up at him, wondering what he was going to do. To his surprise, Malfoy placed his palms on the desk and bowed his head, hiding his face from Harry’s view. It was almost as though he was trying to muster the wherewithal to say something, and Harry decided it best not to interrupt the process.

“Astoria and I got divorced,” he began, finally, his face still hidden, “because she was sleeping with my best friend behind my back for the entirety of our marriage.” 

_What? _Malfoy wanted to talk about the end of his marriage? With Harry? The brunet had no idea what to do with _that. _He’d avoided the topic entirely, assuming it was too private a thing to bring up.

Malfoy looked at him, as if waiting for a reaction, but Harry wasn’t sure what to do except remain silent and wait for him to continue. He did, after a beat.

“She was going to keep it from me indefinitely. It seems she was willing to lie to me for the rest of our life together, if she could. But then she gave birth to Blaise’s son instead of mine, and that rather ruined her plans.” 

He paused again, staring at Harry even more expectantly.

_Merlin, all right. Well… _This was entirely new territory. Divorce, infidelity, his wife having someone else’s kid? “That’s… pretty fucked up, Malfoy,” he said, then winced internally. It was an entirely inadequate response to what the Slytherin had just told him.

Malfoy only laughed, though, that same surprised bark Harry had heard before. His lips twisted wryly in some semblance of a smile. “Yes, Potter,” he said drily. “It is, in fact, ‘pretty fucked up.’ But that’s not the point. Or perhaps it is, in a way. The point is, really, that I can’t…” He trailed off, shifting from foot to foot, ducking his head again, briefly.

Harry leaned forwards, wondering what it was that was even harder to say than what had already been said. He didn’t prod, though. Malfoy’s face was twisting further, in pain, or embarrassment, or something else, and Harry felt his heart clench in sympathy. He waited. 

“It appears that Astoria, for the time being, has rather…” The blond swallowed and took a deep breath. “… ruined women for me. I can’t seem to… I have no interest in women, not even gorgeous pureblood Slytherins like Francesca Bianchi, who incidentally I _should_ be drooling over and scooping up for myself as soon as humanly possible. But I… can’t.”

Harry leaned back again, completely floored. Malfoy hadn’t outright said it, but Harry felt he could read between the lines. It was something about the Slytherin’s sexual interest, sexual performance. He wanted to like women. He wanted to like Francesca; he was _trying _to. But it wasn’t working. It explained so much, and yet was entirely unexpected.

Even more unexpected was that it was _Harry _whom Malfoy had chosen to confide in. He couldn’t fathom why; he didn’t think he had yet earned that level of trust, that Malfoy could be _this _vulnerable with him. Perhaps the man didn’t have anyone else to turn to, no other man who was around his age who might be able to empathize. Whatever the reason, Harry was fully aware that all of their future interactions hinged on Harry’s response. He needed to be very, very careful.

“I’m not sure why you’re telling me this, Malfoy,” he said, keeping his tone gentle. “Maybe you just needed to tell… someone. But…” he went on, feeling at a loss, “I’m not sure how much I can give you, besides telling you that your ex-wife sounds like a real piece of work, and that she obviously didn’t deserve you.” That was most definitely true, though Malfoy must surely already know it. “Other than that, it seems like… time… and distance from this are going to be the only things that can really help you. I don’t know what else to say.” 

“I don’t need you to say anything specific, Potter,” came Malfoy’s calm reply. “I don’t need you to talk me through this. That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Then what are you asking?”

The blond hesitated again, his tongue flicking over his lips a moment. “I want you to help me meet men.”

_Meet men. Meet men. Meet men? _Harry’s brain glitched for a moment.

_Wait. Hold on. Wait just a damn second. _Did Malfoy mean what Harry thought he meant? Was this possible? 

“Sorry, um… just to be clear,” he managed after a moment. “You mean ‘meet men’ as in, romantically?”

“Sexually, I mean. For the purposes of sex.”

_Sweet Merlin. This can’t be happening._

“You’re interested in men?”

“I think I might be,” Malfoy said, his voice still quite calm. “Signs point to yes.”

_What signs? _Harry wanted to ask, but didn’t. Malfoy was still talking.

“I definitely… well, I can’t say for sure, as I’ve never been with a man, but I think I could really enjoy it. It would be different, and that’s what I need right now. I need sex, and I need it to not even remotely remind me of my ex-wife. Do you think you can help me?”

“You’re looking for a casual fuck,” Harry said, his disbelief still evident in his voice. “With a man.” 

The universe had a twisted sense of humor, apparently. 

“Yes. But I don’t know how to go about picking up men,” Malfoy said reasonably, “and given that you seem to be the expert-“

A laugh bubbled out of Harry’s throat before he could stop it. And it was followed by another, and another, and another. Because it was just too absurd. It was just too perfectly, twistedly, frustratingly ironic.

Malfoy was attracted to men. He wanted to try sleeping with one. And he was coming to Harry, not for actual sex, but for advice on how to get _other men _to have sex with him. As if Malfoy would have any trouble with that.

As if Harry wouldn’t happily bend himself over his desk and let Malfoy take him right now.

_He doesn’t want you. That’s what it comes down to._

That thought was sobering enough to quell him, at least so that he could breathe properly. He looked at Malfoy, seeing immediately that his laughter had not been well received. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he insisted, swallowing the last of his mirth. “I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing because…” _Because the universe is intent on torturing me. Because you never for a moment considered the possibility that _I _could be a man you could try sleeping with. Because you’re a walking contradiction of innocence and sex appeal that absolutely blows my mind. _“All right… well… maybe I’m laughing at you a little.”

Malfoy clearly didn’t like that, starting to turn away.

“But only because the idea that you would need _my_ help,” Harry said quickly, unable to help another small laugh. Thankfully the Slytherin turned back to him, listening. “Malfoy, you could walk into any gay club, magic or Muggle, and a dozen men would immediately try to pick _you_ up,” Harry explained. “I mean… look at you.”

“What are you saying?” 

“What am I saying?” Had Malfoy not looked in a mirror recently? “I’m _saying_ you’re fit. You’re bloody gorgeous. A perfect ten. I’m saying you could snap your fingers and have yourself a casual bed-partner in seconds. You don’t need my help at all. The very idea is… absurd. That’s what I’m saying.”

He had hoped this would reassure Malfoy, boost his confidence, let him know he had an excellent shot even without Harry’s help. But Malfoy didn’t seem to take it that way. “Fine,” he said curtly. He made to go. 

_Shit_. “Malfoy, wait,” Harry called to him, standing up. He was clearly going about this all wrong. Malfoy had come to him for help, likely nervous and confused. And Harry had laughed in his face, brushed him off, too caught up in the irony of the situation. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. Just… come back here for a second.”

Malfoy didn’t walk back towards him, but he did turn around, at least.

“I wasn’t thinking,” said Harry. “It makes sense that you would… I understand why you wouldn’t want to go out somewhere alone, when you’re not familiar with the place, or the people. Of course you’d want someone to have your back, to give you advice. That makes complete sense.”

And it did. Harry wasn’t all that keen on being just Malfoy’s wingman, but that was what the man had asked of him, and it would be wrong to refuse to help.

“You just caught me off guard, is all. I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting…” Harry didn’t even know how to explain the surprise he felt. “Well, anyway, I meant what I said. You could have any man you wanted. You could take your pick. But I’ll go with you, keep an eye on you, make sure you know what to expect. You’ll easily be able to do the rest. How does that sound?”

Malfoy’s shoulders relaxed, and he looked genuinely pleased. “It sounds like exactly what I’m looking for.”

Harry nodded, heart hammering, stomach sinking. “All right. Then what’s next is you have a few decisions to make. About where you want to go, about what you’re looking for. A club, a bar? A party with some people I know? Do you want to try wizards or Muggles?”

Malfoy stared at him wide-eyed, as if he didn’t know how to answer. 

“It’s all right. Just think about it. And when you’ve decided, and when you’re ready, we’ll go, yeah?”

“Yes,” said Malfoy. “That sounds… good.”

“Good then.” 

“Yes,” said Malfoy again. He stood there a moment. “I ought to get going. Let you get back to your marking, and all.”

“Sure. I’ll… uh, see you later then.”

“At dinner, I’m sure.”

“Right.”

Malfoy made for the door, turning around once more as he opened it.

“Thanks, Potter,” he said, his tone soft, almost gentle.

“Of course,” said Harry. “Happy to help.”

When Malfoy was gone, Harry returned to his chair, resting his elbows on the desk and burying his face in his hands with a frustrated huff.

It was decided then. Draco Malfoy was going to be the death of him.


	2. Finely Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tale of two cufflinks.
> 
> Rating: Teen and Up  
Pairing: Harry/Draco  
Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Original Male Characters, Teddy Lupin, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson  
Tags: Angst, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Symbolic Jewelry, Brooding, Getting Back Together, Idiots in Love, Time Skips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one done! Took a while though… sorry about that :( RL is pretty full right now. I’ve been working away on more than one of these oneshots at a time, just going with what inspires me. This is the one I finished first. I hope it’s a good second installment. Many of you requested more of Harry’s POV, so this should deliver on that, at least!
> 
> As always, your comments make a big difference to my motivation. I would love to hear your thoughts, and I always welcome more suggestions for future stories.
> 
> Thanks for reading, loves!

“Mr. Potter! This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Greenslade.” Harry greeted the man behind the jewelry counter with a smile. He was by far the best goldsmith in wizarding London, and the person to whom Harry always came to purchase fine jewelry. He didn’t do it every year, but he liked to occasionally splurge on the important women in his life for their birthdays. He’d bought necklaces for Molly and Andromeda both, earrings for Hermione, a bracelet for Ginny. He’d always gotten a positive response and so he kept coming back to Mr. Greenslade, having faith in both his skill and taste.

Today, though, he was looking for something different. Not something pretty and shiny for one of his surrogate mothers or sisters, but something far more… personal. Something for Draco.

He sort of couldn’t believe he was doing it. But once he’d gotten the idea, he couldn’t get it out of his head. He’d never had the impulse to purchase expensive gifts for a lover before; all of his relationships so far had been too casual for that. 

But Draco was different. Though Harry was still sorting out exactly what that meant, he was starting to realize that the feelings were real, and that they were more than affection. He couldn’t help but suspect that Draco felt the same. What they were building was new, fragile, but they _were _building towards something. Harry could feel it, and he wanted to mark that somehow. Draco’s birthday, which was coming up in June, seemed like a good time to do it.

Plus, there was something _really _appealing about the idea of seeing Draco wear something Harry had gotten him, even if no one else knew where it came from. It would be a sign of their connection, the same as the paper dragon and the paper stag that Harry had made. It always warmed his insides to see the dragon sitting so conspicuously on Draco’s desk, like a silent declaration.

Like Harry meant something to him.

“How can I help you today, sir?” Mr. Greenslade asked, pulling Harry from his thoughts. “Another lovely gift for a friend? I’ve just put out a new collection using woven gold. Necklaces, earrings…”

“Sounds beautiful,” said Harry. “But I’m actually thinking about… something more masculine. Cufflinks… was what I was considering.”

“Ah,” he said, holding up a spindly finger. “We have a wonderful variety for you to choose from. This case here,” he indicated towards his left, “contains all the cufflinks we have in stock. I’ll be happy to pull anything that strikes your fancy, if you’d like to take a closer look.”

“Thank you.” Harry looked at the rows and rows of pairs resting elegantly in the case while Mr. Greenslade, ever the gentlemen, found something else to do nearby, giving Harry time to consider his options.

There was everything imaginable, from simple and understated to bejeweled and eye-catching. Some had intricate inlaid designs of white or yellow gold, be it trees, birds in flight, even flowers, and those appealed the most to Harry of all the options. Yet there still wasn’t anything that was perfect, that called out to him as exactly suited to Draco. 

“Anything catching your eye so far, Mr. Potter?” Mr. Greenslade asked him once Harry’d had substantial time to browse.

“They’re all exquisite,” said Harry. “Any of them would be a fine choice.”

“But nothing that is… _exactly _what you’re looking for,” the jeweler ventured shrewdly, but not unkindly.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “I suppose I was looking for something… more personal, something that could only have come from me.”

“Do you mind if I ask the nature of your relationship with the recipient? Is he a friend or…?” The man trailed off suggestively.

“More than a friend,” said Harry, his cheeks a bit hot. “Much more.”

“I see,” the man said, nodding, the smallest of knowing twinkles in his blue eyes. “So this is a special gift.”

“Yes. That was my intention.”

“Then perhaps something custom made. I take custom orders, so long as you are willing to wait a few weeks for it to be filled.”

“Really? That…” Harry could easily wait a few weeks. Draco’s birthday was months away. “That might be just the right solution.”

“Very good then. We can settle on a design right now, if you have something in mind. May I inquire as to budget? It might determine the materials I use.”

“No budget,” Harry found himself answering easily. “Price is no object.”

“Very good, sir. Then shall we discuss design?”

The man took out a piece of parchment and a quill, asking as to size and shape and beginning to sketch. Harry pointed out that he liked the look of the ovular cufflinks with the inlaid designs, though he was still considering what design Draco would most like. What conveyed Harry’s feelings for him? Something that they shared, or something that represented Draco? He didn’t know Draco’s Patronus; he’d never seen the man cast that particular charm. Though a dragon could stand in just as well, just like their paper figures. Would Draco like that, dragon cufflinks? Or was it too on the nose?

“Would you like the two links to be identical, or would you like them to be different?” Mr. Greenslade asked him.

“Different? You can do that?”

“Of course. I can do anything you like.”

“So, you could do two different inlaid designs in the same style, so that they match?”

“Certainly, sir.”

A dragon and a stag, Harry immediately thought. One for Draco, one for Harry. The same but different, a pair.

He shared his idea with the jeweler, and the men sketched as Harry talked. They discussed the position of each creature within the design, how realistic or abstract Harry wanted it to look, how intricate he wanted them. The end results were quite beautiful, Harry thought, and he was a bit amazed.

“You can do that much detail in gold?” he asked.

“Indeed, Mr. Potter,” the man said smilingly. “I am quite skilled.”

“Of course,” Harry answered back, grinning as well. “I could never doubt you.”

“What color gold would you like me to use? I have yellow, white, or rose.”

“Oh, um…” He considered a moment. “I’m not sure. _Not _rose, I don’t think, but otherwise…”

“I agree. Rose is not very versatile.”

“What is most versatile, do you think? I want him to be able to wear these whenever he wants.”

“If that’s the case, might I recommend a blend of white and yellow gold? Those will match well with just about any dress robes or Muggle formalwear. Each color would be woven throughout the design.”

“Two different colors,” Harry said softly, thinking that over.

“Given the… well…” The man let out a delicate cough. “Given the symbolism I am assuming is intended with this particular gift, the blend of colors would fit quite well. Metals with different appearances, but with the same essence. It could be a unifying force between the two designs, make them… match, as you were hoping.”

“Same but different,” Harry said, because that was what he had just been thinking. “Belonging together.”

“Precisely.” His eyes flicked to Harry a moment. “It’s… quite romantic, actually.”

Harry felt himself flush once more. “Do you think it’s too much?”

“Not at all. Of course, it does depend on what you intend. But no, I don’t think it’s too much. I think anyone would be honored to receive such a gift, to receive such a sentiment.”

Harry considered that, and considered whether the “symbolism” Mr. Greenslade was referring to _was _what he intended to convey.

_We belong together_.

There was a quickening in his heart, simultaneously a sweet ache and a nervous squeeze. He felt reckless, afraid, and yet also sure.

“All right then. Yes. This is it. This is the design I want.”

It was only March; there was time. And he believed that what he and Draco had now would only deepen. By June, surely, he would know that this was right.

He would be ready.

***

“I don’t think I like this one as much as the first one,” Draco remarked, snuggling in closer to Harry’s side on the sofa.

“Nor do I. _Raiders _is best, no question,” Harry said, putting an arm around him.

“I just don’t like the blond girl as much as I liked Marion. Marion was better suited to him. She had more fight in her.”

“Hmmm…” Harry replied, grinning. “I actually rather like blonds myself.” He dipped his head, nipping at Draco’s jaw.

He could hear Draco’s answering grin rather than see it. “And I like them darker, as you know. The rugged, adventurous types.”

“Like Indiana?” Harry teased. “I _knew _you thought he was fit.”

Draco turned, catching Harry’s mouth with his own. “Yes, him. Among others,” he replied coyly, his lips against Harry’s.

“Anyone I know?”

“Yeah, I think you know him pretty well.” They were snogging properly now, and Harry moaned into the kiss. Draco was pressing him backward against the armrest of the sofa, and Harry was happy to surrender to it, an arm snaking around Draco’s waist to pull him closer.

“You’re distracting me,” Draco accused.

“Mmmm, so?”

“So, I want to watch the film.”

“But you said you didn’t like this one as much.” Harry’s mouth chased Draco’s as he started to pull away.

“That doesn’t mean I dislike it. And I want to know what happens.”

Harry was going to argue some more, mostly good-naturedly, but he felt a tickle in Grimmauld’s wards, followed by a tapping at the kitchen window.

“It’s an owl,” Harry said. He gave Draco a quick peck before making to stand up. “I’ll go let it in.”

“Do you want to pause it?” Draco asked as Harry was walking away. “I don’t really know how to work this thing.”

“No need,” Harry called back to him. “I’ve seen all of these movies a million times. I won’t be long.”

It was his intention to be quick. He didn’t much care about watching the film, but snuggled up on the sofa with Draco was one of his favorite places to be, and he didn’t want to be out of that position long.

They were in the middle of another relaxed week at Grimmauld Place, Draco having joined him for the Easter break. It was turning out exactly as Harry had hoped, even better than the winter holidays. They were so easy around each other now, so natural. Harry wanted it to never end.

The owl at the kitchen window wasn’t one Harry recognized, but he let it in all the same, noting the package tied to its leg. His stomach gave a jolt when he saw the distinctive _Greenslade Fine __Jewelry _logo on the small wrapped parcel. It could only be one thing.

He untied the package, thanked the owl, and let it fly off into the gray afternoon. Then, with a surreptitious look through the doorway into the sitting room, to make sure Draco was focused on the television, Harry removed the paper.

The box was covered in the traditional black velvet, and Harry eagerly lifted the lid to see what was inside.

They were just as Mr. Greenslade had sketched. Better even, because now they shone with the brightness of polished gold, newly minted. The white and yellow golds together had turned out well, looking natural and subtle rather than garish. And the designs themselves… The dragon and the stag were both wonderfully detailed, just as the jeweler had promised, and looked very handsome side by side like that. They complemented each other, and Harry found himself strangely moved by the sight of them together.

A pair. And a very fine one at that.

Draco would like them. Harry really believed he would. They were suited to him: classic, yet distinctive. Unique.

“Oh, sweet Merlin!” he heard Draco cry from the other room, and he instinctively snapped the box shut quickly and hid it behind his back. But Draco wasn’t paying him any attention, of course, just reacting to whatever was on screen. 

Still, Harry probably shouldn’t spend a lot of time ogling Draco’s secret birthday present in his kitchen, not while Draco was in the next room. Harry snuck quickly into his study, and placed the cufflinks in his desk drawer. He would retrieve them later, maybe take them to Hogwarts with him, just in case… well, just in case he got impatient and wanted to give Draco his present early.

Now that they had arrived and he had seen them, it was going to be hard to wait.

He went back into the sitting room, already formulating a story about what had arrived via owl in case Draco asked. But Draco turned to look at him with a horrified expression, and it was clear that the owl was the last thing on his mind.

“Someone gets their heart ripped out!” he cried.

“Oh, yeah…” said Harry, forcing his thoughts to shift back to the film. “I meant to warn you about that when it was coming. I didn’t realize we were so close to that scene yet.”

Draco huffed. “Yes, a warning most definitely would have been in order.” He sounded quite put out, but still made room for Harry to join him again on the sofa, and still leaned into him as Harry got comfortable. “It was disgusting.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Harry said, running a hand through Draco’s hair. “If it’s any consolation, it’s completely fake. They didn’t actually rip out someone’s heart for the film.”

“Well, yes, I figured that,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “But it’s the _idea _of it, you know, even if it was fake.”

Harry kissed him on the cheek. “You’re right, I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

Draco looked at him sideways, a small, sly twitch to his lips. “I’m sure I can think of a few ways. I do believe another… distraction is in order, don’t you?”

Laughing darkly, Harry leaned over to place his lips on Draco’s beautiful, pale neck. “Yes, I believe it is.”

Draco arched, giving Harry more access, humming his approval. Harry worked his mouth down Draco’s neck as his hand snuck up under his shirt. The sharp gasp Draco gave as Harry found his already pebbled nipple informed the brunet as to just how easy this distraction was going to be to achieve. He grinned against Draco’s delicious skin.

Yes, it was going to be difficult to wait. Draco was intoxicating, and Harry knew he had been intoxicated for quite a while now.

He would find a way to wait, though. He would make sure that the timing was perfect.

***

Sometimes, he wondered if he shouldn’t have waited.

Maybe, if he had given Draco the cufflinks when things were so good between them, none of this would have turned out the way it had. Maybe Draco would have fallen more deeply for him, rather than pulled away and decided to move on.

Could Harry have turned the tide? Had he merely missed his window?

But that was a stupid notion, he would realize a moment later, after giving it some thought. It wasn’t like some _jewelry _was going to make Draco want to stay with him. If Draco had wanted to stay, he would have, wouldn’t he? He would have stayed because he cared about Harry, because he wanted a relationship with him.

But Draco didn’t want a relationship, which he had made perfectly clear. Over the course of their… experiences together – or whatever Harry was referring to them as these days – Draco had been plenty vocal about his intention to eventually commit to a woman one day, when he was ready. Harry had heard him speak of it multiple times, though less so in those final months. Harry thought maybe Draco had changed his mind, but he clearly hadn’t.

Men were a temporary distraction. Harry had merely been a distraction, something to comfort Draco in his time of need.

And yet still, Harry wondered… what if he had just _asked? _What if he’d had the forethought – or perhaps simply the courage – to suggest the idea that Draco could choose Harry instead, that they could be something more than they had been? What if it was that the possibility was simply so out of Draco’s frame of reference for what his future could hold that he hadn’t even considered it? Maybe all he’d needed was for Harry to make the first move.

If that were the case, it meant Harry could still ask. Hogwarts was still in the throes of spring term. He saw Draco just about every day. Harry _could _go to Draco and just ask, find out once and for all if the possibility was there.

And yet, he also could not. Because it wasn’t simply a matter of courage anymore, not after the way they had left things, not with all the hurt, anger, confusion that Harry felt.

He had known joy before, and he had known pain. Plenty of both. But never had they existed so intertwined before. Before this, he had never known what it was like for one of the best nights of his life to give way to one of his worst days. He’d never gotten the first taste of something so _good _and _real _only to have it snatched away before he’d even really learned to appreciate it.

So he was a bit bitter, one could say. And angry. Definitely angry. At Draco, mostly, for not seeing, not appreciating, what they had, and also (perhaps unfairly) for simply being different and wonderful and everything Harry wanted.

There was plenty of anger directed at himself too, sometimes for not being brave enough to say something, sometimes for having fallen for Draco in the first place, sometimes for agreeing to such a finite, limited scope of a relationship with someone Harry _clearly _would become more attached to than he ever had anyone else. 

He should have seen it coming, he should have kept his distance, he should have _said _something… blah, blah, blah. Round about in circles. It was exhausting, and tortuous, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

The only thing that made it better was going to visit Ron, Hermione, and (especially) Rose. They were patient with him; they didn’t force him to talk, but they always listened when he did. Their little cottage was a safe place, and holding a tiny human in his arms helped give him some perspective.

Life goes on. This too shall pass.

Hermione said he just needed time, and he had learned long ago to trust her wisdom.

So he let time pass. He taught classes, marked essays, showed up for his duties, and avoided those who would remind him of what he had lost: namely Draco and Francesca. He visited his friends and did his part to help them adjust to life as parents.

He considered, occasionally, going out to a bar and picking up a stranger for anonymous sex. Just to make his mind off things. But he let those fleeting ideas go without any real interest in them. He knew, instinctively, that a casual tryst would have the opposite effect. It would make him think more of Draco, not less. He wagered the experience would just make him sad, and he hardly needed more of that.

By the end of May, as the school year came to a close, Harry found things _had _gotten easier. The fog had lifted somewhat, and he felt less like he was simply drifting through a routine. He felt more present, less resentful. He could smile without it feeling forced. He could think of Draco with some fondness, and only the smallest sting of rejection.

He still had questions. There was still confusion, a wondering of what could have been. But he believed he was moving forward towards acceptance, and he welcomed it, along with the start of the summer holidays. He could focus on other things, the people who were most important to him, like Teddy. He could come to terms with the fact that, despite his feelings, he and Draco were not meant to be.

He set to packing up his classroom as usual, a task that always took him longer than he expected. He had accumulated way too many random magical instruments over the years, all of which required careful storage. Each year he did this he told himself he would get rid of a few things, make some space. But, inevitably, nostalgia won the day and he couldn’t bring himself to throw out any of it.

He was walking about the room, collecting smaller objects to store in the trunk that lay open by his desk, when he heard the voice behind him.

“Surely you don’t take all of that home with you over the summer.”

That voice only gave him a small lurch in his stomach now, and he turned towards it. Draco wasn’t an unwelcome visitor today, not on this last day.

“Not at all,” he said easily, answering the man’s question with a small smile. “It would be quite a pain to lug these back and forth from Hogwarts. I just have to lock them up, to be on the safe side, until my return.” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his students, but teenagers didn’t always have the best judgment, or understand the consequences of their whims, and he chose to be cautious.

“Of course.” Draco stepped further into the room, looking around with his hands in his pockets. “I imagine some are quite fragile, easily disrupted.”

“It’s a bit silly, really, because I hardly ever use them. Just keep them around for nostalgia’s sake, I suppose,” Harry said, echoing what he had just been thinking about only minutes before. “Some are from my time in the Aurors, but I inherited a lot from Mad-Eye Moody, believe it or not. I don’t know what made him want to bequeath most of his Dark Detectors to _me_, but he did.”

“Perhaps he saw your future better than you could: talented Auror turned even more talented professor,” Draco ventured, and Harry didn’t think he was imagining the warmth in his tone. Even now, compliments from Draco gave him a surge of pleasure, and he looked away, not wanting to dwell on it. He began closing and locking his trunk instead.

“It certainly gives off the air of eccentric professor, I think. Given all those strange instruments Dumbledore used to have in his office. Of course, he used his to solve all sorts of problems. Whereas I just use mine to give off the illusion that I know what I’m talking about.” Harry would never be Albus Dumbledore, though some days he wondered if that was really a good thing.

“Isn’t that rule number one of teaching, to always give off the illusion that you know what you’re talking about,” Draco said, now sounding amused. “Even when you have no clue?”

Harry allowed himself a laugh at that, and how very true it was. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

Draco didn’t say anything else for a few minutes, and Harry chose to occupy himself with continued packing. He took a sheet out from one of his cabinets and started working on covering his foe glass, wondering, for about the millionth time, why he still kept the thing. It took up a lot of space, and Harry didn’t really have any foes to speak of anymore.

“When do you head out?” Draco asked into the silence.

“Today or tomorrow,” Harry answered. “I’m not in a hurry. You?”

“In a few hours, probably. I’m nearly packed, and my classroom’s done. Not much else, really.”

“Sure. You’re Apparating?”

“That’s right. Don’t see much point in taking the train.”

No, Harry couldn’t imagine Draco making that particular choice. “I’ve done it a couple of times,” he said, thinking back. “It’s… an experience.”

“Mmm…” Draco hummed thoughtfully. “Remind you of our school days?”

“No, actually. Those train rides were enjoyable, all in all, back then. Exciting. Now as a teacher, they’re just… loud.”

He heard Draco give a genuine laugh. “You’re getting old, Potter.”

“You’re telling me.” That was truer than Harry really cared to admit.

Draco didn’t seem to have anything else to say on the matter and went silent again. Harry wandered his classroom, looking for anything that he’d missed.

“I suppose I just wanted to say goodbye before I go,” Draco said suddenly, his tone cautious and his voice a bit strained. “It… seemed wrong to just go without saying goodbye.”

Harry felt himself tense. It was the first mention, the first _hint_, at what they had shared between them in a number of weeks, and Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with that. Then again, they were about to part ways, and he supposed it was better to acknowledge it than pretend it never happened. Despite everything, he didn’t want to pretend it never happened.

“I’m glad you did,” he said, almost meaning it. “We haven’t spent much time together lately.”

“No,” Draco agreed. “And I miss that, you know. I miss… our friendship. It’s been hard, not having you around, if I’m honest.” 

Harry stared at the floor, unsure how capable he was of hearing this at the moment.

“I know part of it is my fault,” Draco went on, sounding a bit pleading. “I know I ended the arrangement abruptly and it made things weird between us. And I know it can’t suddenly become _not _weird overnight, but… can we…” He paused, and Harry waited, finding it a bit hard to breathe. “Can we have that again? A friendship, I mean. A proper one. Maybe not right now, but after the summer? After we’ve had some… space?”

_A friendship. A proper one_. In some ways, that was what Harry had wanted from the beginning, since Draco’s return to Hogwarts. Or maybe it was what he had deluded himself into thinking. Some part of him wondered if he had always wanted more than that all along.

But he also knew what it took for Draco to come to him like this, to admit these feelings. Draco had, for all his articulation, a lot of trouble saying what he felt, at showing himself in any kind of vulnerable way. He turned, meeting Draco’s eyes for the first time in a long time, and he saw so much there: sadness, guilt, need, fear.

“I’d like that,” he found himself saying. If that was what he was going to get, he supposed he would take it. Draco meant enough to him that it would be worth it “After the summer. Once we’ve had some space.”

“Good.” Draco released a relieved breath. “It would mean a lot to me. I can’t help but feel I’ve rather… bollocksed it all up.” He shook his head. “Our friendship I mean. And for that I’m very sorry.” 

It was an apology, one Harry hardly expected. Draco, in truth, hadn’t actually done anything wrong. Harry had finally found a way to come to terms with that. “You didn’t. I haven’t handled… well…” He stopped himself from going down that road. He knew where it would lead. He couldn’t admit how angry and hurt he had been, not without also laying out all of his feelings, which would only make Draco uncomfortable. “It will be all right,” he settled on. “We’ll figure it out.” And maybe that was true.

“Yes. Somehow.”

Harry could only nod. His chest felt a bit tight.

“I should go,” Draco said, after a minute.

Harry swallowed. “All right.”

“So. Goodbye. For now.”

“Bye. For now.”

Harry watched the blond, waiting for him to turn and go. He didn’t particularly _want _him to go, and yet he also wasn’t sure how much longer he could bear his presence. Just him being there, looking at Harry the way he was looking at him, was making him remember everything, and it was very inconvenient timing.

Draco strode forward suddenly and, to Harry’s utter shock, wrapped his arms around the brunet. Harry stiffened, not knowing what to do or what this meant, but Draco didn’t let go. Harry softened, realizing he was being ridiculous. This was a goodbye hug, between two people who had been intimate. Or maybe just between two friends.

Harry found it didn’t care which one it was. It felt so good to be back in Draco’s arms and he simply lost himself, clutching Draco to him and breathing deeply. Everything about him, the feel of him, the smell of him, made Harry feel safe, and he chose to enjoy the feeling for as long as it lasted. 

It didn’t make any sense, or perhaps it did. He loved Draco, and though Draco had broken his heart, it didn’t change his feelings. It didn’t change the visceral reality that Harry was more at home with Draco than with anyone else.

It had to end eventually, and Harry knew it. He knew the moment that Draco squeezed him tighter, just for a second, that he was about to pull away. Harry let him, knowing there was no point in hanging on. This was it.

But Draco surprised him once again, because he didn’t go far. Instead, Draco’s hands came to frame Harry’s face, and he looked into Harry’s eyes with something Harry could only describe as longing.

Which didn’t make any sense. Because Draco had moved on. Hadn’t he?

“Have a good summer,” Draco said, his voice rough, and as though he were saying something else entirely.

Harry felt himself nod, speechless at the depth of feeling in Draco’s whole expression, at the tenderness of his hands against his cheeks. He felt shocked, but simultaneously desperate, willing Draco to say something else, to explain, to help him understand what was happening.

But then Draco pulled away for real, his expression going blank, and Harry felt, all over again, like he’d lost something vitally important. 

“I’ll see you soon,” said Draco, before turning to go. He crossed the room, not looking back, and reached for the door.

“Goodbye, Draco,” Harry said. He wasn’t even sure Draco heard him. The door closed only a second later, and Harry was alone once more.

***

It was June 4th, the day before Draco’s birthday. Harry had only been home from Hogwarts a little while, but already he was feeling the distance, the separation from Draco. He was miles away, and felt like it, yet still never far from Harry’s thoughts.

Harry was having a bit of a war with himself. Draco’s birthday was nearly upon him. If a person _were _to send a gift to the man, with the intention of it arriving on time, that person ought to send it by today. And Harry had a gift for Draco. 

Well, sort of.

He had the cufflinks. He’d had them since Easter break. He’d carried them with him to Hogwarts, and he’d carried them back to Grimmauld Place at the end of the year. Though he and Draco were no more, he couldn’t seem to let them go. Harry kept coming back to them, pulling them out of the top drawer of his wardrobe and looking at them, wondering what he should do with them.

Getting rid of them never crossed his thoughts in any kind of serious way. Yet what was he keeping them for, if not to give them to Draco?

Maybe he should just send them. The daring part of him wanted to do it, just send them off and see what chaos ensued. Maybe Draco would be thrilled, moved, touched, by the gesture. Maybe enough to reach out to Harry…

Or maybe not. Maybe he wouldn’t get their meaning at all.

If Harry were _really _daring, he would write a letter to go along with it, explaining the significance of the gift and his feelings for Draco. He could already imagine how the letter would begin, and where it would lead:

_Dear Draco, _he would write.

_Happy birthday. I hope the day is lovely and that you spend it surrounded by friends. I find myself wishing I could be there to celebrate with you, but I know you said you needed space, and maybe that’s for the best…_

Ugh. No. That was no good. If Harry were respecting Draco’s request for space, he wouldn’t be sending a letter in the first place, would he? He needed a different approach.

_I find myself wishing I could be there to celebrate with you, but this gift, and this letter, will have to do for now. We have much to talk about, and I suppose I hoped this letter could be the start of that._

Yes. Much better. Now for the meat of it.

_Draco… I don’t know how else to do this except to be completely open and honest. I have no idea if you even want to hear what I have to say, but I want to try. There’s so much I didn’t say to you when we were together, so much that I held back. It’s hard to understand why, now, with you gone and me wondering if I’ve missed my chance to keep you, but I think it has a lot to do with fact that these feelings are new for me. I’m inexperienced with love, and that makes me uncertain and, frankly, scared. We had an arrangement; we made agreements. So every time I came close to sharing the depth of my feelings I would second-guess myself, knowing I was going against those agreements and fearful that you would resent me – or worse, reject me. I know it’s not very Gryffindor of me, but it’s the truth. _

_I can’t say when it was that I started falling in love with you. The truth of it is, you had me rather hooked from the beginning, but I have no way of pinning down when lust gave way to love. I think of Christmas at Grimmauld fondly, as a time when I felt more at peace than I had in a long time, just being with you. Christmas as a holiday is a struggle for me sometimes. Family is a struggle for me. I don’t always feel like I belong. But with you, it felt like I could do anything. I could handle anything, because I knew that when I came home, you would be there._

_But there were times before that. There was the night you let me inside you for the first time, the night you said you wanted to let go of your hang-ups and be brave. Merlin, Draco, the feelings you instilled in me then. They were more than admiration and respect. I can’t even describe it, what it was like to feel that much trust from you. We had more, even then, than what our agreements dictated, and I think you know that. The way you looked at me sometimes, the things you said, even the way we left things when you came to say goodbye at the end of spring term… They all leave me wondering, hoping, that maybe you understand the same thing that I do._

_Draco, we belong together._

Harry stopped, closing the velvet box with an unsteady huff of breath. He couldn’t keep going. As much as everything he thought of writing was true, he didn’t know if he could ever write that letter, let alone send it. It was asking too much, assuming too much. He could have it all wrong, and he knew that.

Draco had left. Draco had broken his heart once already. Harry was not sure what he would do if it turned out Draco was going to break it all over again.

No. No. He couldn’t bear it. Not now. Maybe later. He put the closed box on top of his wardrobe and promised himself he would think it over. That was the best he could do. The internal debate would rage on, though one thing was for certain: if he did ever send this gift, it was certain to be late.

***

Weeks passed, and Harry filled his time as he had intended. He saw Teddy often, taking him flying or to do Muggle activities like skating, which he was getting increasingly better at. In the evenings Harry could frequently be found at Ron and Hermione’s for dinner, where he held Rose and talked to the couple about everything imaginable, save for the one thing that was most on his mind.

When he hadn’t made specific social plans he usually ended up staying at Grimmauld, though he wasn’t technically alone. The renovators had started in earnest on the third floor project, and they made plenty of noise. Harry welcomed it, actually, and on some days even found himself volunteering to help out. There were walls that needed to be demolished and a large hammer available for when they were inclined to do it the Muggle way. There was something very satisfying about swinging that hammer, watching the walls come down piece by piece. It took his mind off things.

Like the cufflinks on top of his wardrobe that were still waiting for him to make a decision. He was putting it off, and he knew it.

He was happy to receive, later in June, a call from David and an invitation to grab coffee with him and Paul one afternoon. He was pleasantly surprised, since David tended to invite him to parties more often these days than one-on-one get-togethers, and Harry was hardly in the partying mood at the moment. He missed his Muggle friends, and readily accepted the invitation to meet up with them.

They were waiting for him when he arrived at the cafe, having already grabbed a table by a window. They stood to greet him, and Harry smiled as he was embraced by both of his friends. They invited him to sit, and he did, all the while making small talk with them about how the summer as going so far.

“Do you prefer it, being away from school?” David asked him. “Or do you miss it?”

“A bit of both,” said Harry with a wistful smile. The waiter came and they all placed their coffee orders. “I love my work, and the students are great. And some of my closest friends are there. But I have a whole community here in London, too. There’s Teddy, and the Weasleys…”

“Teddy… that’s your godson, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, pleased that Paul had remembered. He didn’t talk much about Teddy, or most of the other people in the wizarding side of his life. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together this summer.” Flying, mostly, though Harry could hardly bring that up. “He really likes sport. And he’s gotten into skating this past year. I take him to the rink sometimes.”

“That must be nice,” said David.

“It is. I try to make time for him every summer, honestly. But the older he gets the more important it is to make that a priority, you know? Plus, his grandmother is getting old, and I think she appreciates that I get him out of the house. Give her a break sometimes, you know?”

“He lives with his grandmother,” said Paul. “I didn’t realize that. Where are his parents?”

“Oh,” Harry said, forgetting he had never really told his Muggle friends this story. “They’re… dead, unfortunately. They both died in a… in an accident, when Teddy was only a few weeks old. So he is being raised by his grandmother, with my help.”

“Wow,” said David, leaning back in his chair. “Wow. I had no idea.”

He saw David and Paul exchange a look, and could tell there was something on both their minds.

“Yeah, I don’t talk about it much, I guess. Thinking about Teddy’s parents still makes me sad.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I think that I could have helped… stopped it somehow, I don’t know. Survivor’s guilt, I suppose. I’ve got, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. “… rather a lot of that, to tell you the truth.”

His two friends exchanged that look again. David shifted, looking a bit discomfited, but also as though he was about to say something. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Harry said quickly.

“No, that’s not it at all, Harry,” David said, glancing at Paul once more. “It’s just that, you _don’t _really ever talk about your past, and you share very little about your life. And Paul and I have recently…” He chewed on his lip. “We’ve realized recently that when we see you, we always talk about us, or politics, or the movies we’ve seen recently, or whatever. But never about you. And we just… wanted you to know…” He trailed off, but Paul nodded encouragingly at him. “We want you to know that we _want _to know more about you, that we care about you. We’d love to hear you talk more about your past, and your godson, and everything. It won’t make us uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that we want to force you to share,” Paul cut in, perhaps in reaction to Harry’s furrowed brow. “But we want you to know that you _can_. That we’ll be happy to hear anything you want to tell us.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, wondering where this was coming from, all of a sudden. It reminded him, vaguely, of a conversation he’d had with Draco all those months ago, right after David’s party. Draco had pointed out then how little Harry’s Muggle friends must know about his past. Harry couldn’t help but wonder now if there was some kind of connection. “I appreciate that.”

“We know you have other people to talk to,” said David. “Like those friends from childhood that you mentioned. The ones who just had a baby, right?”

“Yeah. Ron and Hermione,” said Harry, nodding. “I talk to them a lot. But you know it’s nothing personal against you guys. It’s just that, like you said, they’ve known me since childhood. They knew my history without me ever having to tell them. They’ve always known. And that makes it… easier, I guess.”

“We’re not taking it personally,” Paul assured him. “If anything, we just feel bad. Like maybe, because we’ve never asked you about your past, you would think that we don’t care.”

“I know you do,” said Harry. “I guess I’m just… a private person is all. I don’t know. It’s hard to, um…” To his surprise, he actually felt his throat tighten with emotion, and he wondered where that was coming from. _Why now? _“Look, I…” Did he want to share this? Was this something he wanted Paul and David to understand about him?

_If they don’t know who you are_, Draco’s words from that night came back to him, _then they’ll never know who you _are. There was wisdom in that.

And why couldn’t he share some part of it with these two men, who he had known for years? They didn’t want anything from him except friendship. They had no other agenda. Harry needed to learn to trust that, to not always guard himself out of habit.

“I don’t like to make too big a fuss about all of it,” he began, crossing his arms over his chest, “but the truth is, my childhood was absolute shite, and my adolescence wasn’t all that much better. My parents died when I was only a year old and I was sent to live my aunt and uncle. Problem was, they never got on with my parents, and they hated me, and they abused me, pretty… pretty substantially.”

“Physically?” David asked softly.

“Yeah. And psychologically. They locked me in rooms, they starved me, they told me my parents were worthless low-lifes who never amounted to anything, and I was going to be the same as them. Sometimes…” Harry’s hand tightened on his own bicep, the nails digging in, and he could feel himself closing up, closing off. But he made himself speak anyway, just like that day, in bed with Draco, when he’d told the whole truth. “Sometimes my uncle beat me. Both of you have seen me shirtless. You’ll have seen the scars.”

“Oh my God,” said Paul, as if in realization.

“Look, don’t…” Harry said, waving a hand. “Don’t go down that road, ok? It’s not… it’s in the past. I’ve had loads of therapy, and I’ve dealt with it. I hardly think about it anymore.” That was only partially true, but he hoped it would make his friends feel better. The looks on their faces indicated that they might regret bringing it up, causing him more pain. “When I was eleven, I went off to boarding school,” Harry reassured them. “And things got a lot better after that. I made friends, I had teachers who cared about me. It wasn’t _all _great, mind you. I still struggled. I was a troubled kid, in some ways. Maybe for… obvious reasons,” he gave them a sardonic smile, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “Bad things continued to happen… I was still mistreated when I went home in the summer, and I wasn't always very popular. And I lost some people close to me, including Teddy’s parents. And a few others.” He shook his head. “Death and loss was a part of my reality for a long time. It made it hard for me to get close to people. And at the same time, I clung very tightly to the few people I trusted. Like Ron and Hermione. It wasn’t always healthy, but it was how I coped. And I got better… I’m _still _trying to be better about that. It’s a learning process, for sure.”

He looked at his friends, to see how they had taken all of this. They were both leaned in across the table, just listening raptly. Harry felt both good and strange about that.

“The older I get, the easier is gets,” he said, and he was relieved to find that that was true. “As you know, I joined the police force right out of school, when I was 18. But that was just more violence and sadness and… I actually hated it. So I quit and became a teacher instead. And that changed everything. I started to be truly happy. And I embraced my sexuality, came out to my friends, started, you know…” He grinned involuntarily. “… making up for lost time by sleeping with every man I found attractive.”

Paul and David chuckled knowingly, and Harry joined in. “And now… here I am. It’s a process but… I’ve come a long way.” He looked between the two men. “And that’s it, really. I’m sorry I never… shared any of that before. It doesn’t usually cross my mind, honestly, to share that kind of stuff, not unless someone asks.”

“Yeah, that’s essentially what Draco said,” Paul mused. “And he was right.”

“Draco?” Harry asked, his stomach flipping. “He talked to you?”

“He didn’t tell us anything specific, don’t worry,” said David. “He was just annoyed with us, because we were…” He trailed off, suddenly looking uncomfortable again. He turned to Paul, and the two of them seemed to have some sort of silent communication. “All right, here’s the thing,” David said, looking at Harry once more. “You know we love you, right? And we think you’re wonderful, and everything.”

“But…” Harry prompted, unable to help a small smile.

“Well, we got on a bit of a thing, the night of Jack’s party. With Draco. About how you’re so hard to get to know. We didn’t mean anything bad by it, it was just an observation, mostly.”

Paul nodded emphatically.

“Ok…” said Harry, wondering what the big deal was. “I mean, I know I can be hard to get to know. That’s fine…”

“We just didn’t want you to think we were talking behind your back.” Paul said. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Ok, I get it,” said Harry. He really wasn’t all that bothered.

“Well, Draco minded, apparently,” said David, mouth twisting wryly. “He went off on us, actually.”

“Draco did.”

“Yeah, about how we weren’t being fair, about how you’d never shared the more personal parts of your life because we’d never asked, and how you had things that you didn’t like to talk about and only shared with people you felt you could trust.”

“He said all that.”

“Yes,” David said emphatically. “He was very defensive of you. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you about it, actually, although it sort of makes sense. He seemed to feel a bit guilty afterwards, like maybe he was out of line.”

“He meant well,” Paul chimed in. “He meant it out of love.”

“Out of love,” Harry said softly. “Maybe. More likely out of friendship. He’s… very loyal, actually.”

Paul and David were silent for a minute, thinking over what Harry had just said. 

“You two haven’t made it official yet then, I wager,” David said.

“Official?”

“You were sleeping together, weren’t you? Draco confirmed that you were.”

“He did?”

“Not that he needed to,” said Paul, laughing. “The way you looked at each other, even from across the room… It was a bit hard to miss, wasn’t it?”

“Clear as day,” agreed David.

“Yeah, we had a thing,” Harry admitted. No use denying it, if Draco had already shared the truth. Harry certainly didn’t care who knew. If he’d had his way, he’d have told the world.

“Had,” said David, his voice suddenly flat.

“Yes. Had.” Harry took a sip of coffee.

“But it’s over?”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed, staring at the table. “It ended… he ended it, the morning after Jack’s party.”

David made a sort of whistling sound between his teeth, sitting back in his chair, while Paul, at the same time, said, “_What? _That makes no sense.”

_No, it doesn’t_, Harry wanted to agree. He had certainly been blindsided too. But he merely shrugged. “It wasn’t serious. He was ready to move on.”

He could feel both of them staring at him, and he knew he was giving himself away, moping as he was. But how could he talk about Draco, about his leaving, without being sad?

“You weren’t, I take it,” David asked, but as though it wasn’t really a question.

Harry met their concerned gazes a moment before returning his to the table. “No, I wasn’t. I, um… had pretty strong feelings for him. I thought… I had notions that maybe we could make a go of it. A relationship, you know? But…” He shrugged. “Didn’t work out. Obviously.”

“Did you tell him you wanted to make a go of it?” David asked incisively.

Harry flicked his eyes to David again. “Not in so many words,” he admitted.

“No,” said David, crossing his arms. “I thought not.” He leaned forward again. “Draco mentioned… he said something about it being casual, a fling. And yet, at the same time, the way he talked about you… He was so defensive of you, but it was more than that. It was… I can’t put it into words.”

“Passion, caring,” Paul filled in. “Loyalty, like you said. But more. Commitment.”

“No,” Harry cut them off. This was too hard to hear, after everything, after the hope he’d had before. “The loyalty, yes, I believe that. And I even believe he would defend me, but… he didn’t… he doesn’t love me.”

“How do you know?” David asked.

“He wouldn’t have left me if he loved me.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Paul insisted.

Harry knew, deep down, that they were right. He’d had his own doubts, his own questions, about Draco’s reasons for calling off their arrangement. Sometimes it didn’t seem to make any sense to him. But he also didn’t want to get his hopes up. He still couldn’t bear another letdown. He really couldn’t.

“He told me he needed to move on. He told me he needed space. He cares about me; I know that. He wants to be friends again, once we get back to school. Those are the sort of things someone says when they don’t want you, aren’t they? Hell, _I’ve _said those things to… I don’t know how many men.” He ran a hand through his hair, realizing that was true.

“And what do _you _want, Harry?” David asked. “Do you even know?”

“I want _him_,” Harry found himself saying. “Just him. God, if I could…” He stared down at his hands, where he was anxiously picking at his fingernails. “If he could ever love me, that would be it, I would… There’s no doubt in my mind that I could commit to him. But he doesn’t. He wants to be friends. So… I have to live with that. I can learn to live with it.”

All three were quiet for a long time, letting Harry’s confessions hang in the air.

“Maybe you don’t want to hear this…” David said finally. “But I really think this is the best thing that could have happened to you. I think it’s better this way, at least to some extent.”

“_David_,” said Paul. “How can you say that?”

Harry had to wonder the same thing, though he merely gaped at David in disbelief rather than said his thoughts aloud.

“It’s out of love!” David insisted. 

“Out of love?” Paul echoed incredulously. “That doesn’t give you a free pass to just say whatever-“

But David cut him off with a raised hand, leaning toward Harry again. “It’s out of love, Harry. That’s why I say this. Because you’re my friend and your happiness is important to me. And this, _this_, with Draco, was your first shot at real happiness with someone. And I know you’re gutted that it didn’t work out, but at least… at least now you know how it feels. For yourself, because knowing what being in love feels like, that’s important. Because you now also know what those other blokes felt when you broke it off with them, when you treated your relationships like they weren’t a big deal. I’m not saying they were always in the right, or that you didn’t have a right to break up with them, but you… you have to admit, it’s just like you said. You’ve given the breakup speech before. You’ve turned men away because they were getting too attached. And now that you’ve had a taste of what the other side feels like, I… I have to believe it’s good. I really do.” He sighed, putting his hand on Harry’s lightly. “I’m not saying it to be cruel or to make you feel bad, I swear. I’m saying it because I hope that you’ll… take what you’ve learned, and think about what it is that you really want. I really think that’s the best thing to do in this situation. Give thought, real, genuine thought, to what it is you want.”

“That’s just it, though,” Harry interrupted. “I know what I want. Like I said, I want him. I want Draco. But that’s clearly not an option right now.”

“And what are you going to do about that?” David pressed. “Where do you go from here?”

“I don’t know!” Harry said, perhaps a bit too loudly, since a few other patrons in the café turned towards their table. “I don’t know,” he said again, much more quietly, leaning over the table. “I’m thinking about it, all right? But it’s like you said. I’m… I’m gutted. I’m just trying to sort myself out right now.”

He expected David to argue, to insist that he run right over to Draco’s and tell him everything. But he didn’t. He sat back in his chair with a sigh, and said, “All right. I understand. I know it’s more complicated than it looks from the outside. Draco told us a bit about his ex-wife, the divorce…”

“Yeah, he mentioned that, after the party,” Harry said, calming down.

“And he did say himself it was a fling, didn’t he?” Paul said, more to David than to Harry.

“He said that,” David agreed. “But…” He shook his head. “I’m telling you. I’m just telling you… there’s almost always more to what people say than just… what they say.”

“That may be true,” said Harry. “But I care about him. And I think I owe it to him to trust him at his word, whatever he says. I have to respect what he says he wants, rather than try to force him to want something… to admit… I don’t know. I just don’t want to pressure him. It’s more complicated, like you said. It’s not just about his divorce and what his ex-wife did. It’s also his parents, who are very… traditional. It’s about his fear of coming out, even to his closest friends. I mean, all last year, we had to keep our sleeping together a secret…”

“He’s not out,” David said, closing his eyes in realization. When he opened them again, he and Paul exchanged another glance. “Ok… ok. Fair enough. That… changes things.”

“I want him,” Harry repeated. “I love him.” That got a wide-eyed look from both of his companions, but he plowed on, realizing the truth even as he said the words. “But he said he needed space. He needed time. And maybe… I think that’s what I have to give him, in the hopes that maybe he’ll end up deciding that he _does_ want to be out, that it will be worth it. But until then…”

“You can’t force him,” Paul said. “You’re right about that.” David nodded. 

They were silent for a few moments, until Harry started chuckling. “I can’t believe we’ve spent this entire time talking about me,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I spent this long talking about myself.”

_Probably not since I was seeing a Mind Healer._

“That doesn’t surprise me,” said David.

“You always turn the conversation back around to other people,” Paul added. “You do realize that about yourself, right?”

“Yeah. It’s been pointed out to me before, actually,” Harry said drily. “I’m… working on it.”

They both nodded.

“Well, thanks, Harry,” David said. “For trying, with us. We’re glad.”

“Yeah. We really are, mate,” said Paul.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replied, flushing. “But... honestly, don’t you think that’s enough heavy for now? I’m a bit sick of thinking about my problems right now. I really would rather hear how you’re doing.”

“Well…” David said slyly. “In that case, Paul here is considering trying long distance with Colin.”

“Really?” Harry said, genuinely surprised. He thought that was a done thing. “When did that happen?”

“_Considering _it,” Paul hedged. “There has been… we’re talking, that’s all. Colin isn’t sure he wants to stay in Edinburgh long term, and… he, you know…”

“He _misses _you,” said David with a grin. “Can’t fathom why.”

Paul gave him a playful shove with his elbow. “Yeah, well, David here is about to move in with Jack,” he told Harry. “And they’re both being right divas about it.”

Harry laughed, and David was swift to defend himself.

“Ok, no, listen. Have you _seen _the bedspread he keeps on that old futon of his? It’s absolutely hideous, and he’s insisting that we put it on our new bed, just because it’s so soft. But, you know… it’s basically neon orange and _so _against the color scheme, it’s not even funny.”

Harry and Paul were laughing at him with abandon, and David scowled.

“Shut up. My stupid boyfriend has no taste at all. I really think if I have to use that bedspread, it will kill me.”

Harry returned home feeling much lighter than he had when he’d left. It was nice, he realized, to share himself with people who had no preconceptions about him based on his history. It was nice to know that Paul and David didn’t just like having him around because he was fun and fit. It was nice to know that they wanted more from their friendship.

And it was good to have clarity about Draco. He had been sitting on these questions for weeks, going back and forth and when and how he should reveal if his feelings, _if _he should even reveal them.

And now he understood something he hadn’t been willing to acknowledge before: how Draco was still coming to terms with his sexuality, and how hard that must be. A person needed time to reckon with that, to see what it meant to them. Harry’d had years to do that. Draco deserved that too.

_When we return to Hogwarts, things may have changed. _Draco had asked for the summer, and it seemed a good amount of time. He was probably sleeping with other people – maybe men, maybe women, maybe both – and Harry would have to learn how to be all right with that. He was hardly one to judge, after all.

But, as David pointed out, Harry had seen the other side of it now, and he knew what it was to care deeply for a lover, to want to commit. Maybe Draco, once he had explored, would also get clarity about what he wanted as well. Maybe, once they were back at Hogwarts, he would be more receptive to the possibility of a relationship. They could talk about it.

Until then, though, he would leave it. He would focus on other things.

He went into his bedroom, where the black velvet box was sitting on top of his wardrobe, where he had left it the last time he had decided to take the cufflinks out and look at them.

He didn’t feel a need to look at them again. He merely put them in the drawer, promising himself – and, in turn, Draco – for the time they both needed. 

He could be patient. He could wait.

***

“Interested in helping again today, Mr. Potter?” Gallagher, Harry’s architect and magical renovator asked him. He had paused, spotting Harry lingering on the landing of the third floor, which had now been entirely cleared. All around the empty expanse, Gallagher’s employees were working away, mostly casting charms or putting together training equipment, now that the floors were installed and the walls painted.

“Yeah, actually,” Harry answered, rubbing the back of his neck. He needed a distraction, something physical he could do to take his mind off things. “If you think you can use me.”

“Of course. What strikes your fancy?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any more walls I could smash, would you?” Harry asked drily. “It’s been that kind of day, I’m afraid.”

Gallagher chuckled. “’Fraid not, Mr. Potter. We’ve finished with the demolition by now, as you can see.” He gestured around in demonstration. Of course, Harry figured that would be the case. But it never hurt to ask.

“I’ll help wherever I can, then.”

He ended up teaming up with two of the other renovators putting together one of the advanced practice dummies. It wasn’t the very active, physical work he was craving, but it was intricate, with many small parts and complex mechanisms, and required concentration. Harry decided he would take what he could get.

Anything to take his mind off Draco and what had happened in that wine shop. He had been wallowing for a few days now, and he was sick of it.

He hadn’t meant to lose his temper like that. He had _meant_… well, in truth, he hadn’t been entirely sure what he was going to say until he was about to say it. All he knew was that he had seen Draco with that other bloke – _kissing _that other bloke, in public no less – and the only thing he could think about was the fact that Draco was obviously interested in being more serious with men than he had previously let on, at least to the point where he was willing to be seen with them in the wizarding world.

And in that moment, two things had passed through his mind simultaneously.

The first was what Paul and David had talked to him about, the way that Harry had been hard to get to know, had kept his distance from his lovers from so long that it was practically second nature. Harry had thought it over quite a bit since then, and had realized that he might very well be responsible, or at least partially so, for the fact that Draco didn’t choose to pursue a relationship with him.

Draco didn’t _know _Harry was open to that kind of relationship, because Harry had never said he was. Neither of them had ever said.

And now, well, it seemed as if there was a chance.

On the other hand, Harry had also been, at the very same time, faced with the reality that Draco was with someone else. The only thing Harry could hope was that it wasn’tall that serious with the tall brunet – preferably not exclusive – and that Draco would welcome the possibility of ending things with him in favor of Harry and rekindling what they had together.

He had been wrong on both counts.

_It’s new_, Draco had said when Harry asked how serious it was. But Harry also couldn’t help the sting he felt when Draco added (a bit pointedly) that it was also monogamous.

I _wanted to be monogamous with him_, Harry thought bitterly as he lay on the floor, performing a tightening charm on one of the lug nuts in the interior of the dummy. _I told him I wasn’t seeing other people_.

Apparently, though, Draco hadn’t understood the significance of that. He hadn’t realized what that choice meant, what a big step it was for Harry. This entire time, he’d thought that Harry just wanted something casual. If only Harry had said something sooner, had told Draco how hard and fast he was falling. That night after David’s party would have been the perfect time. They were so… connected, so close. He could have said it all, everything.

Or he could have stopped him the morning Draco ended it, seen through the pretense, had the courage to own up to his feelings, even if it meant rejection.

He could have told Draco why he was so upset after their breakup, before he ever left Hogwarts. He could have sent Draco those damn cufflinks back in June.

So many chances, and he missed all of them. And now it was likely too late. He hadn’t heard a word from Draco, and he was hardly surprised. The blond seemed quite happy with the cute brunet – American, from the sound of it. He clearly liked this Kyle person, and why shouldn’t he? What, really, did Harry have to offer, other than his love, something Draco could clearly get elsewhere? 

Harry crawled out from under the dummy, pulling out his wand again. He was about to perform a quick cleaning charm on himself when he was interrupted.

“Harry? I mean, um… Mr. Potter?” came a voice from behind him. Harry turned to see one of the renovators, a dark, muscular wizard named Adam, the same one who had been giving Harry suggestive looks every time he was doing work at Grimmauld. He’d even found the man hanging out after work was done a couple of times, lingering longer than the others as if hoping to be invited to stay. Adam was making it perfectly clear, from Harry’s perspective, that Harry was welcome to bed him any time he desired.

In a Draco free world, he might have had some interest in that. But as it was…

“What is it?” Harry asked him, pocketing his wand. He was hardly in the mood to flirt at the moment.

“I think there’s someone at your door,” the wizard said. “I heard the bell.”

“Oh,” said Harry, brow furrowing. “Are we expecting more workers today?” They usually took the floo, but some came in through the front, if they were carrying equipment with them.

Adam shrugged. “I don’t know. I can ask the boss if you’d like.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just check. Thanks.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Potter,” Adam said with a flirty smile. “Happy to help.”

Harry barely avoided rolling his eyes as he made his way down the stairs towards the front door. He hoped it was just an extra worker or two, and not some unwelcome visitor who had found a way through the wards. Unfortunately, that had happened before too, especially during times when he hadn’t been vigilant in maintaining the spells. 

He opened the door quickly, ready to either welcome someone in or tell them off. But what he found there was so unexpected that he did neither, but rather just stood there and stared.

“Draco,” he breathed.

It was indeed his former lover, the one he had just been moping about, standing on his front stoop looking impeccable and lovely as always. He held a box on his hands, a large white one almost as broad as his chest.

“Hi, Harry,” Draco said simply. Harry couldn’t be sure if he was imagining it, but Draco’s voice sounded a bit breathy too, a bit nervous.

Harry had no idea what the man had to be nervous about. He looked so _good _standing there, a guileless, open expression that was aimed right at Harry. He wore perfectly tailored trousers that showed off his long, lean legs and a crisp, mint green shirt that hugged his shoulders attractively.

The brunet realized, with some horror, that he likely looked just the opposite of Draco at the moment. He hadn’t showered, and he’d just spent a good half hour lying on a floor that was still dirty with dust and bits of plaster. “Sorry, I was…” He began, looking down at himself to find he was right. He tried to rid his shirt of some of the dust. “The renovators are here, for the third floor,” he explained. “I’m helping them.”

“Oh, that’s… good,” Draco replied, after a moment. “Things are coming along nicely then?”

“What?” Harry said, distracted by his own disheveled appearance and a sudden panic that he might not smell all that good either. It took a second for him to realize that Draco was trying to make conversation. “Yeah. Oh, yeah, definitely. It’s just… that’s why I look like this, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting… you know, company.”

Merlin, of all the days for Draco to pop in for an unannounced visit. Harry straightened himself out the best he could, wishing he could find some way to cast a discreet freshening charm or something.

He half expected Draco to laugh – Harry was aware he was being a bit awkward – but the blond did nothing of the sort. He merely smiled softly at Harry and held the white box out to him.

“I didn’t mean to keep you from your work,” he said. “I just wanted to bring you a gift.”

The box was for him? “In person?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t know what to say. He supposed this was some kind of early birthday present that was also meant to serve as a peace offering, after how they’d left things at wine shop. Harry accepted the gift, savoring the small contact with Draco’s skin that he received when he took it. He supposed peace, and perhaps a future friendship, would be the best that he could hope for. “Thank you. But my birthday’s not for another three days.” 

He hoped this would prompt Draco into an explanation of why he was bringing it early, which maybe could spark a conversation, a real conversation about how they were going to figure out being friends, after everything. But Draco only stood there, mouth open, looking bewildered for a few seconds, before he recovered himself.

“It’s not a birthday present,” the blond said quickly. “That’s…” He bit his lip. “I have a different present for your birthday.”

“Oh.” Harry’s brow furrowed as he stared at the box. _A different present? _“Then what is this present for?” He was thoroughly confused.

That question seemed to rattle Draco, because he stumbled over his words a bit. “Ummm… It’s just… It’s just, you know, a small token. Of my…”He let out the smallest of coughs, almost as if he was readying himself, and met Harry’s eyes. “Of my love. For you.”

There was a buzzing noise in Harry’s ears at those words, and he almost thought, perhaps, that he had imagined them. Because this couldn’t possibly be happening, could it? “Love?”

“Yes,” Draco’s voice perfectly clear now.

Harry’s heart kicked into overdrive. “You love me?”

“Very much so. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

Draco’s answers just kept getting better and better. “Would you like to come inside?” Harry asked him. Grimmauld’s front stoop hardly seemed like the place for them to have this heart to heart. Harry had so much to say, and so much he wanted to know.

“I…” Draco’s hesitation caught Harry off guard, and he waited for the man’s answer. “Not today. Not yet.”

“Oh.” Harry wasn’t sure what to think. Was Draco trying to say he wasn’t ready? Maybe even though he knew he loved Harry, he still needed time before he could pursue a relationship.

Which would be a shame. Harry couldn’t help but feel that they had wasted time already, by not being honest, by being apart. What was keeping them from starting now, starting for real?

“I came to bring you a gift,” Draco said, his voice suddenly urgent, “and to ask you something, to ask you to – to have dinner with me.”

"Dinner?" This conversation was started to give Harry emotional whiplash.

"Yes."

“When?” _Now? Next week? Next year?_

“Tomorrow night. I have reservations somewhere special for 7:30.”

Harry’s face broke into a smile, both because the following night wasn’t so long to have to wait, but also because Draco was clearly assured of Harry’s acceptance. Which meant he had believed the things Harry said in the wine shop, the feelings he had been trying to convey. “You were confident I would say yes, then.” He found the assumption didn’t bother him at all.

“I hoped, at least,” Draco said, his expression softening in a way that got Harry’s heart rate going again. “And I wanted to make sure I could get the reservations I wanted.”

So, someplace fancy, then. “Where?”

“Now, that’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Why?”

“Why is it a surprise or why am I asking you to dinner?” Draco looked a bit amused now, and Harry couldn’t help but mirror the feeling. He laughed, mostly at himself, and also at how surreal and extraordinary this conversation was.

“I honestly don’t know. I‘m sort of in shock right now.”

Draco laughed as well, as if in agreement. He sobered though, that soft smile still lingering on his lips. “It’s a surprise because I want it to be special,” looking at Harry meaningfully. “And I want it to be special because I love you.” 

_Sweet Circe. _Harry knew how he had longed to hear those words come out of Draco’s mouth, how much Harry had longed himself to say them. But that longing was nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the feeling of actually hearing them. He swallowed thickly, unable to speak.

“As for why I want to take you to dinner in the first place,” Draco went on, “it’s because I want us to start over, begin at the beginning, a proper relationship.” He closed the small distance even more, the white box between them the only reason they weren’t touching. He searched Harry’s face as he spoke, his eyes lingering at Harry’s mouth. “I want to be with you and only you, and I want to know if you want that as well.”

“I do,” Harry said immediately. _Gods, I do. So much. _“I thought I made that clear. I mean, I was _trying _to make that clear. I didn’t exactly get to say everything I intended to say.” That was an understatement.

“That’s all right.” Draco reassured him, placing his hands very lightly over Harry’s. “You can say everything you want to say to me tomorrow night.” He paused, one eyebrow raising in a question. “If you'll agree to have dinner with me, that is.” 

“I really have to wait until tomorrow?” Draco clearly wanted this to unfold a certain way, and Harry trusted him. At the same time, though, Draco had gotten to say those words, and Harry wanted to find a way to say them too.

Draco laughed again, seeming utterly charmed, and for a moment Harry thought, the way Draco was looking at him, that the blond was going to kiss him. Out of habit, perhaps, or simply feeling. And Merlin, did he want that to happen. But Draco recovered himself, pulling away a couple of inches. “One step at a time, right?” he said.

_Go slow, don’t rush_, seemed to be what Draco was trying to say. He wanted to start over from the beginning, do it properly. “Right. I suppose that...” Harry could do that. That would be no hardship at all. “Yes. Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night,” Draco repeated with a smile. “I’ll come here and pick you up.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Harry promised.

“Good.”

Draco lingered a moment more, as if debating something. But then, seeming to resolve himself, he gave Harry a nod goodbye and turned, making his way down the walk again. Harry watched him go, pleased when Draco turned back to give him one last, joyous smile. He then walked through the wards, and Harry knew that Draco could no longer see him.

He could still see Draco, though, and he couldn’t help but feel that the man striding with more purpose, with more happiness, than he had been before.

Feeling dazed, Harry went back inside, the box from Draco still clutched in his arms.

_A token of his love_. Now that he didn’t have Draco’s presence to distract him, he found himself burning with curiosity as to what Draco had brought him.

He opened the box at the kitchen table, untying the big red bow and lifting the lid. The most delicious smell wafted towards him: sugar, butter, vanilla…

_Pastries. _Harry grinned as he took in the nicely displayed cornucopia of baked goods. There were croissants, biscuits, scones – and, from the looks of them, all of his favorite flavors of each – as well as the centerpiece, a large and beautifully baked treacle tart. Of course.

Draco had selected well. _I know you_, he seemed to be saying, and Harry was more than happy to receive the sentiment. He wanted to try one, maybe a pastry, but there was the sound of someone on the stairs, and he decided to put the box away for now. He would take out a selection to share with the workers later, once he determined what he wanted to keep for himself (the treacle tart, was, of course, a no-brainer). He put the box lovingly in his pantry, then turned to see that Adam had appeared in the kitchen.

“Everything all right, Mr. Potter?” he asked.

“Sure, yes,” said Harry. “Everything’s fine. How’s it going upstairs?”

“Great. I just… well, you had been down here a while, and I thought I would check.” He was making doe-eyes at Harry, and very obviously so, but Harry chose to ignore them.

“Well, like I said, all good here. Just a friend stopping by. Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, good.” Adam lingered a moment, eyes tracing over Harry. “Are you going to come back and join us, or…”

“Actually, I’m afraid some other things have come up,” Harry said, and this was true. He was already starting to make plans, consider all of the things he wanted to do before his date with Draco the next evening.

_His date with Draco. Merlin._

Namely he needed to make sure his best suit was clean and presentable. And maybe he should get a haircut; he was starting to get a bit shaggy. And he definitely needed a shave.

He also wanted to talk to Hermione and Ron, and tell them everything.

_And the cufflinks. I’ve got to figure out when I’m going to give Draco the cufflinks_. He smiled to himself, feeling suddenly overcome.

“I have quite a bit to do,” he said aloud. “Starting with a shower. But do tell Gallagher I appreciate his work. You all are doing an excellent job.”

“Oh, thank you,” Adam said, looking slightly caught off guard. “I hope you um…” He licked his lips. “…enjoy your shower.”

Harry snorted, pinning Adam with a knowing look. “I’m sure I will. Good luck with the renovations.”

He breezed past the other wizard, trying to make his dismissiveness clear. He hadn’t been in the mood to flirt before, and now he really wanted to make it obvious to the young man that it was never going to happen.

“Thanks,” Adam said softly, and Harry caught the disappointment in his tone.

Harry couldn’t feel bad, though. There was too much joy filling him for that.

***

“What’s that?”

Harry looked up from the carrot he was slicing into sticks to see what his godson was pointing at. There, resting on the counter near the picnic basket, were Draco’s cufflinks, now disguised beneath red and blue birthday wrapping paper.

“It’s a present,” Harry said simply, returning to his chopping.

“I know _that_,” Teddy said, and Harry could tell without looking that the boy was rolling his eyes. He smiled to himself. “Is it for your birthday? Are you going to open it?”

“It’s not for me. It’s for Draco, from me.”

“Why?”

“Because his birthday was in June and I missed it, so I’m giving him his present today.”

“Oh.” They were silent for a minute while Harry packed up the all the veg he had just finished slicing. “Is Draco going to give _you _a present?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“But it’s your birthday. Isn’t he _supposed _to?”

Harry chuckled at the boy’s indignation. “We’ll see.” He honestly didn’t know what to expect from this morning with Draco. The past few days had been – what with their very successful date, Draco’s letter to his mother, and many shared words of love and devotion – so unexpected, in the best possible way. Harry was rather happy to remain open and see what would happen next.

“You like him, right?” Teddy asked.

“Yes, of course. You’ll like him too, I wager.”

“No. I mean you _like_-like him.”

Harry suppressed a snort. Trust an eight-year-old to put it in those terms. Like Harry and Draco were two youths with crushes, pulling each other’s pigtails on the playground. Then again, in a sense they had been pulling each other’s figurative pigtails all through Hogwarts, so maybe the expression wasn’t so off the mark.

“Yes,” he said. “I like-like him.” _I love him, _he added silently to himself, just because he couldn’t get enough of the sound of those words.

“Does that mean he’s your boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Harry said, unable to contain his grin any longer. “I suppose it does.” He glanced at Teddy, who was grinning too.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend before?” Teddy asked.

That might seem a strange question, but, given the circumstances, it wasn’t really. Harry had never felt comfortable introducing a man he was dating to his godson. Ron and Hermione, occasionally, yes. But never Teddy. So Teddy would have no way of knowing who Harry had dated or how many of them there actually were.

“I’ve liked other men before,” he answered, starting to fill the picnic basket with all of the food he had made. “I’ve been on dates. But I’ve never liked anyone as much as Draco.”

“Is he going to come live here?”

Harry paused. He certainly hadn’t expected that question. “I… don’t know. We haven’t talked about it. It’s… a little early for that. If we do decide to live together, it won’t be for a little while, probably.”

“Oh.”

“But he is going to be around a lot,” Harry said, wondering if that was why Teddy was asking. “I’m going to be spending a lot of time with him from now on.”

Teddy only nodded, looking thoughtful.

“How do you feel about that?” Harry asked him. This was all new territory, and though Teddy was a social kid and very adaptable, Harry did wonder how he was going to handle this change.

Teddy shrugged. “Good,” he said. He frowned in thought. “As long as he’s nice to you.”

Harry couldn’t help a pleased chuckle at that. “He’s very kind to me, don’t worry.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “But I appreciate you looking out for me.”

Teddy looked up at him, grinning again.

Harry glanced at the clock. “It’s nearly time to get ready. Do you want to wear your jersey to the park, or are you going to wait until we’re leaving for the match?”

“I’ll wait for the match,” Teddy answered immediately. “I don’t want to get it dirty.”

Harry smiled, unsurprised. That Holyhead Harpies jersey was signed by Ginny Weasley herself and was among Teddy’s most precious possession, second only perhaps to the Snitch Malcolm Sellers had caught for Teddy last year on his birthday.

“All right. Looks like all you need are some shoes and socks, then,” he said, glancing at Teddy’s feet.

Teddy pouted. “I can’t find my trainers.”

“The blue ones?”

“Yeah.”

“You were wearing them yesterday, when you got here.” Teddy had arrived in time for dinner, and to spend the night, and the two hadn’t been out of the house since.

“I know.”

“So they’re somewhere in the house. Have you checked behind the sofa in the sitting room? Or maybe under your bed. Those are the places you like to toss your shoes and forget about them, aren’t they?” He gave Teddy a knowing and amused look.

“But I put them away. I swear I did.”

“If you say so.”

“But I can’t _find _them,” he whinged. “Can’t you just Accio them like you did last time?”

“No,” Harry said. “Because the more I summon things for you that you’ve lost, the less likely you are to learn to keep track of them yourself.” He thought this was a very reasonable point, but Teddy merely groaned in annoyance. “Your Gran packed you those white ones as well. If you can’t find the blue ones, just wear those.”

“But I don’t _want _to wear those,” Teddy said.

“Well, then I suppose you ought to go looking for the blue ones, don’t you think?”

Teddy made a face at him, but Harry just met him with his best no-nonsense look until Teddy relented. Teddy knew that whinging and demanding things would never be tolerated under Harry’s roof, nor under his Gran’s, for that matter, so it didn’t take him long to do as he was told.

When Teddy left for his search, Harry looked at the clock again and saw that they were cutting it pretty close. Draco was due to arrive soon and he still needed to finish cleaning the kitchen.

He worked quickly, using magic to help him along the way and snickering to himself about how Teddy would be complaining about the injustice of that if he were there. He thought it very unfair that adults got to use magic to help them with their chores while children were stuck doing all of theirs by hand. 

When the kitchen was clean it was only a few minutes until eleven, and Harry was wondering what was taking so long.

“Teddy!” he called up from the bottom of the stairs. “Any luck?”

“Not yet!” came the reply from the general direction of Teddy’s room.

Sighing, Harry answered, “Did you look behind the sofa like I suggested?”

“Yes!” Teddy yelled back. “I checked the whole sitting room, I swear!”

“Well, they’re probably under the bed, then!” He thought about going and having a look in the sitting room, just to be sure. “Hurry up! Draco will be here any minute!”

“Draco’s already here, actually,” came a voice from down the hall.

Harry’s insides gave a pleasant lurch as he turned towards the source. Draco was standing by the door to the parlor, looking edible in jeans and a blue linen shirt that set off the natural pearlescence of his skin. “Yes, he is,” Harry said, smiling and making his way over. He hesitated a moment, wondering if they were yet at the stage where kissing in greeting was acceptable. The way Draco nodded, his eyes flitting briefly to Harry’s lips, gave Harry his answer.

Draco’s lips were soft, and Harry let his own lips linger on them. “Hello,” he said after he pulled away.

“Hi. Happy birthday,” Draco replied, grinning and kissing him simultaneously.

“Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“Teddy’s nearly ready,” Harry explained. “He’s misplaced his favorite trainers, apparently, and he’s looking for them.”

“Ah,” said Draco. “Do we need to help him?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m sure he’ll manage.” He did think it was a good idea for Teddy to learn responsibility for his own things. But mostly, now that Draco was here, he just wanted to take advantage of their brief alone time. “It’s so good to see you,” he said, putting his arms around the blond. “I feel spoiled getting to see you four days in a row. After… going so long without you.”

Draco’s eyes grew tender as they gazed at him. “You’ll have to get used to it, I suppose.”

Harry liked the sound of that. “Planning to stick around for a while then, are you?”

“Hmmm… I’m considering it, at least,” Draco teased, and Harry decided to shut him up with his lips. Draco responded beautifully, pulling Harry flush against him and deepening the kiss.

_Merlin. I will never get enough of this._

“I found them!” called Teddy from the stairs, making the two men separate far too early for Harry’s liking. Still, though Teddy knew there were romantic feelings between them, Harry wasn’t sure how Teddy would react to catching them snogging. It was probably best for Teddy to get used to the idea of them together first.

Teddy had reached the bottom of the stairs and was looking between the two men and smiling. 

“Under your bed?” Harry asked pointedly, indicating the trainers Teddy was holding with a nod of his head.

“Yeah,” Teddy admitted.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

Teddy seemed unbothered by Harry’s smugness, merely continuing to grin. “Yes.”

Feeling a surge of affection overtake him, Harry ruffled his godson’s hair playfully. He’d always appreciated Teddy’s naturally cheerful disposition. “Teddy,” he said, turning his attention back to their guest. “This is my friend, your cousin, Draco Malfoy.”

“Hi, Teddy,” Draco greeted the boy. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

They shook hands, almost like two adults, which had Harry fighting a smile. But then Teddy said, “Hi. Do you like Quidditch?”

_Cutting to the chase as usual, _Harry thought.

“I love Quidditch,” said Draco. “I played Seeker in school, for my house team.”

Teddy turned to look at his godfather, his surprise evident. “Against Harry?”

“Many times,” Draco answered with a dry chuckle. “He always beat me, though.” He gave Harry a brief but affectionate glance.

“Well, he _is _the best Seeker Hogwarts has ever had,” Teddy said, as though this were fact. “Uncle Ron told me so.”

“Well, if Uncle Ron said it, it must be true.” Draco glanced at Harry again, this time with a little sparkle in his eye that held just the smallest hint of irony. Harry rolled his eyes before addressing Teddy again.

“Come on, then. Get your trainers on. Plenty of time to talk Quidditch on our way to the park.”

Teddy agreed, sitting down on the stairs. Harry went to retrieve the picnic basket from the kitchen, ears straining in the hopes of overhearing their continued conversation as he made his way down the hall.

From what he could catch, it was more Quidditch talk. No surprise. Of course, once Teddy heard that Draco was a supporter of the Falcons, he would do everything in his little eight-year-old power to convince the blond that the Harpies were superior. He was even more adamant about that than Harry.

He grabbed the basket off the counter and made his way back towards the front hall.

“Did Ginny Weasley tell you that?” he heard Draco say as he approached.

“Yeah. So?” Teddy replied.

“So… she might be a little upset that she didn’t make the international team this year. That’s all I’m saying.”

Harry grinned. Ginny had been quite put out by that, in fact.

“She was on the short list too. But they went with Connery,” Teddy explained.

“That’s what I heard. I don’t really understand it. He never seemed like that great a flyer to me.”

“I know, right?”

“All right, you two, let’s get going,” Harry said. He found himself anxious to get to the park, thinking of the wrapped gift that was waiting for Draco in the basket.

Even with Harry’s nagging and nudging, it still felt like it took forever to get them out of the house. Teddy was too busy describing the brilliant plays he’d seen Ginny execute at the various Harpies matches he’s been to.

Finally, though, they were out on the front walk and making their way down the street.

“Sounds like you see a lot of Quidditch matches,” Draco said when Teddy finally paused for breath.

“Yeah, loads! I would watch all of them if I could.”

Draco chuckled, catching Harry’s eye. “I bet.”

“We’re going to see a Holyhead Harpies match today for Harry’s birthday, you know.”

“I heard.”

“They’re playing the Wasps. The Harpies are going to _crush _them. I can’t wait.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the slightly ferocious glee in Teddy’s voice. “We’ll see.” The Wasps were actually quite good this season, and he didn’t want Teddy getting his hopes up too much.

“The Harpies are the best,” said Teddy, looking at Harry like he was mental. “You say so all the time.”

Harry considered that. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

“We _know _Ginny Weasley, you know,” Teddy said to Draco, jumping forward a few conversation topics as usual. “We have Christmas with her every year. And sometimes I see her other times, when she’s not traveling.”

“I did know that, actually,” Draco replied.

Harry smiled to himself as Teddy chatted away, talking about his birthday Snitch. He discretely watched Draco as he listened along, occasionally answering the boy with a patience and kindness that made Harry’s insides feel warm and strange.

Teddy had changed conversational directions once again, now asking if Draco knew Teddy’s grandmother, Andromeda. 

“Not as well as I’d like,” Draco said. “I saw her more when I was small. Smaller than you. But I’d love to see her again.”

“Oh. Well I’m sure that will happen. Harry says that you are going to be around a lot, so you’ll probably see her a lot too, don’t worry.”

Harry felt his cheeks go red. Of course, Teddy was already blabbing about the conversation they’d had earlier. It was probably only a matter of time before there was some mention of how Harry “like-liked” Draco and how they were going to talk about moving in together. He was going to have to be careful about what sort of things he said about Draco to Teddy from now on, so his godson didn’t go around spilling all his secrets.

It didn’t help that Draco was giving him a distinctly heated look as he answered, “Well, Harry’s right about that.” Harry had to work to swallow the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

He was thankful when they finally arrived at the park and Teddy immediately asked if he could go play. He agreed, glad to get enough alone time with Draco that he could give him the very personal birthday present that was waiting impatiently in the picnic basket.

He laid out the blanket on the grass and he and Draco sat, discussing Teddy and what a wonderful kid he was.

“It’s obvious you’re doing a great job with him,” Draco said.

Harry felt a small pang of guilt in his chest. “I can’t take a lot of the credit,” he admitted sheepishly. “It’s mostly Andromeda. Being at Hogwarts makes it hard to be there for him most of the time.”

“He seems very comfortable with you, though,” Draco pointed out, and Harry felt himself smile. “It’s obvious that he likes spending time with you.”

“I try to make up for it in the summer,” said Harry. “I see him a few times a week.”

“That’s great.”

“I’m really looking forward to three years from now, when he comes to Hogwarts. Then I can see him all the time. Keep an eye on him, like I promised his mum and dad.” It had been something he thought about often since he’d started teaching at Hogwarts six years ago. He hadn’t taken into account how long it was going to be until Teddy joined him at school. Now they were three mere years away from that, and it still felt like such a long time.

“That will be nice,” Draco said softly, taking Harry’s hand.

Harry took a few minutes to just enjoy the feel of Draco’s bare skin against his own, though his heart was suddenly hammering in his chest. It was the perfect time, just the right moment, to give Draco this gift that he had been waiting so long to give him. But he was terribly, painfully nervous about it all the same.

“I got you something,” he blurted, before he could take too much time and overthink it.

He felt Draco’s surprise in the sudden stillness of his body before he heard it in his voice. “What?” Draco asked.

Hands shaking a little, Harry went to the basket and took out the wrapped gift. He presented it to Draco, who accepted it hesitantly, looking thoroughly confused.

“Harry,” he said. “It’s _your _birthday.”

This surprised a laugh out of Harry, and he was glad for it. It made him feel a little calmer. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

“Is this a thing, you giving people gifts on your birthday instead of the other way around?” 

“Not usually. I like getting presents. But I missed your birthday, you know. So I’m making up for it now.”

Draco watched him for what felt like a long time, though it was probably only a few seconds.

_Open it. Please just open it_, Harry compelled him with his eyes. He had already waited so long for this. Draco seemed to understand, his eyes dropping to the present as he began to unwrap it with careful fingers. When he opened the velvet box itself, he stared at its contents with assessing, curious eyes, as if taking it all in. One finger reached out, touching the dragon cufflink, almost reverently.

“You and me,” Draco said.

Harry felt a surge of pleasure and relief at that simple statement. _He gets it. He understands what it means. _

“I realized when I ordered them that I didn’t know your Patronus,” he explained. “But then I realized I could just use the creatures from the paper figures I made, and that would work just as well, to represent us. Do you like them?”

“They’re lovely.” 

“I know you don’t have much reason to wear them at Hogwarts,” Harry said, still a bit nervous. “But, I figured, they go nicely with pretty much any dress robes, and Muggle shirts as well, when you want to wear a suit.”

“I love them, Harry,” Draco replied, looking up at him. “They’re perfect.”

His gaze was earnest, and Harry had no cause to disbelieve him. “Ok… well… good.”

Draco looked back down at the cufflinks again, seeming lost in thought. “But how did you find…” he began after a moment. “…or did you custom order them? How did they fill the order so fast?” 

Harry realized he probably should have seen that question coming. He felt himself flush once again. It was probably just better to admit it all now. “I’ve… had them for a while, actually. I ordered them back in March.”

“In March.”

“When I left Hogwarts for Hermione’s baby shower, you remember?” Draco nodded, and Harry went on. “Well, I also popped into my favorite jewelers in Diagon to have these made. I was going to give them to you on your actual birthday, but…” 

“But I ended it,” Draco finished for him, his tone suddenly guilty.

“Yes,” Harry said, because it was true. “And then I didn’t know what to do. I thought about giving them to you anyway. I wrestled back and forth about it for months. I thought you ought to have them, at least to remember – to remember us. But I didn’t know if you wanted to. I didn’t know if it meant the same to you as it did to me. And the bravest part of me wanted to send them to you to show you… to finally tell you how I felt. I composed a letter in my head and everything, waxing poetic about how you and I…” He laughed a little, thinking back to that moment. “About how you and I belonged together.”

He heard Draco exhale a shaky breath, and when he looked at Harry once more, Harry could see in his gray eyes just how moved he was by what Harry was telling him. He seemed unable to speak, so Harry continued.

“But, in the end, I decided not to. I decided to wait, to see what would happen when we returned to Hogwarts. And I suppose a part of me was afraid you would just think it was stupid or something.”

“Never,” Draco said, quickly but softly. “I never would have thought it was stupid.” He looked back down at his gift, as if with new appreciation. “Thank you, Harry. I love them. They’re perfect.” A hand found Harry’s shirt as Draco pulled him gently into a kiss. Harry couldn’t contain his grin as he felt with certainty all of the emotion that Draco was putting into that kiss, as he thought about how this was _right_, how it had all worked out somehow, even if it wasn’t in the way Harry had expected it to. Harry let himself sneak in a few more kisses, after checking that Teddy wasn’t watching them, and both men were smiling widely when they finally pulled away.

“I have a gift for you too,” Draco said, after they had taken a few seconds to enjoy the moment. “Because, you know, it’s actually your birthday.”

“Oh, is that so?” said Harry, his joy bubbling over.

“Yes. And I was excited about giving it to you, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t pull out any more unexpected gifts, trying to one-up me.”

Harry laughed at the look of mock annoyance on Draco’s face. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“All right,” Draco said with a sigh. He took something out of his pocket, his head swiveling about surreptitiously to check if they had an audience. After he had cast some privacy charms, he enlarged the silver package until it fit perfectly in his hand. He held it out to Harry.

More than a little curious, Harry unwrapped the paper. It came away easily, and underneath was a wooden box with a hinged lid. The dark wood was soft against Harry’s fingers in a way he found pleasant, and the sides were exquisitely carved.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, wondering what it was for.

“That’s not really the present,” Draco clarified. “Open it.”

Harry did, lifting the top of the box on its hinge. Inside was a glass ball, just the right size to be cupped by his palm. He took it out, immediately thinking of Neville Longbotton and that infamous flying lesson.

“Is this a Remembrall? Like what Neville had our first year at Hogwarts?” He remembered that day clearly, and thought perhaps Draco did too. Perhaps this was some reference to that day, to their old rivalry… something new Draco wanted him to understand about it.

But Draco laughed and said, “No. Although it’s made by the same company. But this is much better than that. Give it a light squeeze.”

Now undeniably curious, Harry put his fingers around the ball, gripping it tightly for a moment. Smoke appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, but this smoke was multicolored: a deep, royal purple with threads of bright yellow and dark orange swirling through, making spirals with each other.

“Interesting design,” Harry said, still staring at it. “What does it mean?”

“It’s how I’m feeling right now,” Draco said matter-of-factly. Harry’s neck popped as he turned to look at the blond, his stomach doing a strange flip. “It’s… linked to me. To my emotions. When you hold it in your hand firmly like that, it will fill with smoke, and it will change color according to what I'm feeling at the moment.”

Harry looked back at the object in disbelief. “It’s sort of like those mood rings I’ve seen Muggle teenagers wear. Except this is actually… I suppose it really works.” Draco was right. This was a lot better than a Remembrall.

“It should,” said Draco. “And it should only work for you. It knows your magical signature now. It won’t work for anyone but you or me.”

“How will I know what the colors mean?”

“There’s a small roll of parchment inside the box. It lists all the colors and the emotions they represent. I think it’s also the sort of thing you learn over time, the more you spend with it.”

_The more time you spend with it_. Harry suddenly felt a bit overwhelmed by the immensity of the thing he held in his hand. “Do you know what these colors mean?” he choked out, looking at Draco. The blond nodded.

“Do you want to look it up, or do you want me to tell you?”

“I want you to tell me,” Harry urged. 

“Well, the yellow is happiness, and that little bit of orange is anxiety, because…” He scratched the back of his neck a moment. “Well I suppose I was nervous about how you’d feel about this present. But purple is the dominant emotion right now. And that’s… love.”

_That _was almost too much to hear, too much to bear. _Love_. It was proof, tangible, physical proof, that Draco loved him. Which he supposed was Draco’s point in giving it to him. But it was also so much _more _than that. It was a glimpse into anything and everything Draco was feeling and would feel in the future. And he was telling Harry that whenever he wanted to look, whenever he wanted to know, he could.

It was too much to hold. His chest felt full and tight all at once; his eyes were stinging, tears already threatening to spill over. He was suddenly very, very thankful for the privacy charms Draco had cast.

“Harry?” Harry felt the weight of Draco’s hand on his knee. “I… is it all right?” the blond asked cautiously. “Did I…? Do you like it?”

Harry looked up at him in disbelief. Did Draco not understand? “Draco. Do you… do you have any idea what this _is_?” He needed to make sure Draco knew what he was handing over to Harry, the kind of power that this object held. Because Draco looked a bit confused, and now Harry was wondering if the blond hadn’t fully thought through all the implications. “This is your _heart_, Draco,” he said emphatically, hoping the blond would get it. “You’re letting me see inside your _heart._”

But Draco’s expression cleared, and Harry could read no worry there, no regret. “Yes, I know.”

“Only me.”

“Yes,” Draco said, with certainty.

“You’re just… _giving _it to me.”

“Yes. I’m ready to.”

Harry felt the first tear spill over, and he swiped at it, though he knew there would only be more to come. “Merlin,” he said, unable to find any other words to convey all that he was feeling.

“I trust you, Harry,” Draco went on, his words soft and loving. “And I wanted you to know just how much. I know you’ll keep it safe.”

That really did him in, and he could hold back a small sob. It was everything he had wanted without knowing it. Trust, pure and unrestrained. It was everything he wanted to give Draco in return, without knowing how to. “Fuck. This is so… I don’t even have words for what this means to me.” He paused, trying to get his breathing under control, so that he could say what he needed to say. “I _will _keep it safe. I promise. I’ll never abuse it.”

“I know,” Draco answered readily, though his voice had gone a bit tremulous as well.

More tears spilled, and Harry cleared them away. “Gods, and you were worried I was one-upping you,” he said, half joking, half earnest. “When all I gave you was a pair of cufflinks and you gave me your heart in a box.”

Draco laughed, seeming to understand. His thumbs wiped gently at Harry’s cheeks, getting the last remnants of his tears. “It wasn’t actually a competition, you know,” he said wryly. “I wasn’t expecting a gift at all.”

“I know that.”

“Besides, I know they’re more than just cufflinks. I know what they mean. I know now how long you… wanted this. Us. They tell me that you really thought about this and that you’ve been ready for a long time.”

“Yes,” Harry breathed in relief. “That’s exactly it.”

Of course Draco would get it. Of course he would. He always seemed to understand the important things.

“And that means a hell of a lot to me, to know that.”

“Good.” 

They kissed again, and it was tender and achingly slow, and Harry felt so filled up that he knew he was in real danger of weeping again. Luckily, Draco seemed to understand this, because he didn’t lift the privacy charm right away. Instead, he gave Harry time to come down from this intense high, to finish the cathartic release of all that had been building up since their breakup. Since before their breakup, really. He had been carrying so much for so long, without even realizing it.

He loved those cufflinks, and he was happier than ever that he had ordered them in the first place. Yet they had been weighing on him, all these months, a burden he had been unwilling to put down. The burden of not telling the truth, the burden of holding himself back from what he wanted most.

They were in Draco’s hands now, where they belonged, and Harry was free. He had something even better clutched in his own. 

Draco’s heart. His love. And all the promises of the future.

***

The cheers surrounded them as they made their way back down the aisle. Harry was pretty sure some of the guests were tossing flower petals on them, or maybe spraying it from their wands with a charm. He caught the eyes of a few of his students as well as a number of Weasleys. They were all grinning widely, clapping and wolf-whistling. He spotted Narcissa Malfoy amongst the crowd too, and felt a jolt of surprise.

Mostly, though, Harry was focusing on the warm hand in his, the presence of the man by his side, and the rapid beating of his heart. The adrenaline hadn’t yet subsided.

He was married. To Draco Malfoy. Would wonders never cease.

Ron caught up with them at the end of the aisle, clapping Harry on the back on congratulations.

“We’ve got a room for you set up off the entrance hall,” he told them. “If you go back into the castle by the main doors, you should find it easily.”

Harry and Draco both thanked him and hurried along, the continued applause of their wedding guests slowly fading as they approached the castle. The guests themselves were instructed to wait for the couple to leave, before eventually making their way to the Great Hall for the reception.

It was pureblood tradition, apparently, for the newlyweds to sequester themselves in a private room for a few minutes directly following the ceremony, before they were meant to make their entrance at the reception and be announced as a married couple. It was a chance, Draco had explained to Harry, for the bride and groom (or, in their case, the two grooms) to have some alone time, to breathe and find some peace after the excitement of being wed.

Harry was all for it, especially now that he knew what it felt like. His blood was humming; he felt jittery and excitable and unable to contain himself. A quiet moment with Draco was exactly what was called for.

Ron was right, they found the room easily. It was a small but comfortable space with a few plush chairs and a window that looked out over the grounds. There was a fireplace, but no fire, given that it was quite a warm day and therefore unnecessary. Harry was feeling a bit hot in fact, after spending the entirety of the ceremony in the sun, and elected to remove his tuxedo jacket. He saw Draco doing the same, and gave him a smile.

“This was a very good idea,” Harry remarked with a relieved breath. “I don’t think I can handle all the excitement and the well-wishers just yet.”

“I don’t know how newlyweds survive the day without it,” Draco replied. He reached out a hand. “Come here, Husband.”

Harry went to him readily. “Husband,” he repeated, trying on the word. They had used it before, talked about it. But now it was real; it meant something. He took both of Draco’s hands, interlacing their fingers together.

They simply stood there a moment, foreheads resting together, clutching each other.

“My mother is here,” Draco said softly.

“I saw,” Harry replied, giving Draco’s hands a squeeze.

“I didn’t think… I never really expected…” He gave the smallest shakes of his head, as if in disbelief.

“I know.” Harry tilted forward, giving Draco a soft peck on the mouth.

“Didn’t see my father, though.”

“No, nor I. Though we’re hardly surprised, are we?”

“But my mother decided to show up anyway.”

“She’s always been more supportive.”

“She came without him. I just… didn’t think she would do that.”

Harry searched his new husband’s face, looking for a hint of what he was feeling about all of this. Happy? Confused? Sad?

“Is it a good sign, do you think?” Harry ventured. “A step in the right direction, at least?”

Draco met his eyes. “Yes. I suppose it is.” He kissed Harry soundly, and they pressed closer together. Harry’s hands began to venture up Draco’s arms, but paused as he felt the light scrape of metal against his palms. He looked down, turning over Draco’s wrists just so.

There was a stag pinned to his cuff, a very familiar one.

“You wore them,” he noted, pleasure filling him. He didn’t have to look at Draco’s other wrist to know he would find the dragon there.

“Of course I did,” Draco said, indignant. “They’re my favorite. Why would I wear anything else, on today of all days?”

Harry found he was grinning widely. “It is rather fitting, isn’t it?”

“You and me,” Draco replied. “Together.”

“A pair.” Harry looked down at the cufflinks again. “And a rather fine one at that.”

“Yes, Harry,” Draco said, chuckling, giving him another kiss. “Very fine.”

They went silent again for a little while, lightly pressed together, breathing and sighing, enjoying this short, quiet time together. Beyond the door, the bustle of their guests could be heard making their way into the Great Hall, and Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he and Draco ought to go and join them. 

Sure enough, there was a sharp knock on the door only a few moments later, and Ron stuck his head in.

“Everyone’s gathered,” he said.

“Yes, Ron, thank you for that,” Draco said, with poorly concealed annoyance. “And thank you for barging in without waiting for the go-ahead. Quite considerate of you.”

Ron merely grinned at him, unfazed. “You’re welcome.”

“Traditionally, the best man guards the door and waits for the couple to decide when they’re ready to make their appearance,” Draco explained, though rather unnecessarily. They’d had this conversation already. Many times.

“And what is the best woman’s job?” came another voice. Pansy stuck her head in a moment later, appearing right below Ron’s in the gap between the door and the frame.

“To make sure all of the guests have plenty of booze while they wait for us,” Draco replied smoothly. He made a gesture with his hand. “Off you pop, then.”

Pansy scowled at him. “It’s a job easily done, you imperious prat,” she said. “But the guests want to see you. You’ve been in here twenty minutes already, by my count.”

“Impossible,” said Draco.

“Very possible,” said Ron.

Draco was about to open his mouth to reply, but Harry decided to intervene. “Just… guard the door, will you, Ron? We’ll be out soon, I promise. And Pansy, if you would be so kind as to make sure that the wine is flowing freely and that the servers are putting out the finger-food, I would be forever in your debt.”

Pansy smiled sweetly at him. “Of course, Harry, love. Anything for you.”

The two disappeared again, closing the door behind them. 

“Pansy is nicer to you than she is to me,” Draco complained. “It hardly seems fair.”

“Ever thought it’s because I’m nicer to _her _than you are?” Harry pointed out affectionately. 

“I’m sharp-witted and unapologetic,” Draco replied, rolling his shoulders defensively. “It’s part of my charm.”

Harry kissed his cheek. “If you say so, love.”

“I won _you _in the end, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. Quite thoroughly, in fact.” Harry kissed his cheek again, then his nose, then his lips. He lingered there, but heard from outside the sounds of the band starting up. Apparently the party was going on without them. “All right, Husband,” he said. “I think it’s time. We should get out there.”

Draco sighed. “Yes, I suppose we must.” He pulled away. “And we should put our blazers back on. Otherwise everyone will assume we’ve been doing naughty things in here.”

“Which wouldn’t be so bad really,” Harry replied with a grin. “I wish we _could _do naughty things.”

“One track mind,” Draco accused flipping his tuxedo jacket around and putting an arm through. “Save it for tonight, once we can be properly alone to enjoy it.”

“That’s if we don’t drink too much,” Harry reminded him.

Draco went still in the middle of straightening his collar, giving Harry a sharp look. “It will be our _wedding night_, Potter. You’d better not drink too much,” he warned. “Or I’ll have your arse.”

“I rather thought you having my arse was the point,” Harry riposted with a smile. “Or the other way around. I’m not bothered.”

Draco fixed him with a stare that Harry assumed was meant to be unamused. But he had caught the small twitch of Draco’s lips, and knew the man wasn’t actually angry. Harry put on his own jacket.

“I was planning on having all of my wits about me tonight,” Harry assured him, stepping closer. “This is about you and me, after all.”

He saw Draco’s expression soften. “I suppose we also have plenty of time on our honeymoon as well,” he condeded.

“Yes, we do. As well as, you know…” Harry shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “… the rest of our lives.”

Draco pulled Harry into a kiss, a fierce one that conveyed his approval of that last sentiment. “Yes, that too,” he said. 

They were quiet again, but only for a moment. They knew their guests’ patience was wearing thin.

“All right, my love,” Draco said, pulling away but taking Harry’s hand in his own. “Let’s go out there and show them what a fine pair we make, hm?”

Harry smiled, tightening his grip and receiving a responding squeeze. “Yes. Let’s.”


	3. Comfort Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle Bergeron finds true love... it just takes a little while, that's all.
> 
> Rating: Explicit  
Pairings: Kyle (OC)/Male OCs, background Draco/Harry, background Angelina/George  
Characters: Kyle Bergeron (OC), Angelina Johnson, Hannah Abbott, Original Male Characters, Original Female Characters, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Theodore Nott  
Tags: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Brooding, Self-Actualization, Mutual Pining, Drinking, Friendships, Idiots in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! Its still 2019 where I am, but we're only a few hours away. I'm pretty damn excited I finally got this done. It's long as hell, a whole lot longer than I expected. It's Kyle's story, and it may not be your thing, but I do love this man and I wanted to give him his happy ending. I hope you're open to exploring his part of this universe. Harry and Draco do make an appearance, and more details of their relationship are sprinkled throughout the story.
> 
> This is Kyle's tale though. And it has a very happy ending, don't worry.
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think! I always welcome feedback! <3

_HARRY POTTER’S SHOCKING NEW BEAU! A DATE IN DIAGON! PHOTOS INSIDE!_

_That’s right Potter-heads! Our beloved Savior-turned-playboy is at it again, with a surprising new companion. You may not believe your eyes, but the photos don’t lie. The Man Who Conquered was spotted in Diagon Alley only days ago with none other than Draco Malfoy, son of former Death Eater and now French ex-patriot Lucius Malfoy. Onlookers were stunned to see the two so cozy in public. After their infamous Hogwarts rivalry and their opposing roles in the Second War, we have to wonder how these two could possibly be friends, let alone lovers._

_Yet after their shopping spree at Flourish & Blotts, the couple was seen canoodling at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, and there can now be no question as to the nature of their relationship._

_The fact that this is the first time our darling Harry has been spotted all summer, and the obvious ease and intimacy between the two lovers, makes us wonder how long this affair has been going on. Has Harry Potter finally found true love? Or is Malfoy just Flavor of the Month? This wouldn’t be the first time…_

Kyle Bergeron sucked his teeth and skimmed the rest of the article. He didn’t much care about the history of these two contentious lovers or the speculation over whether or not the relationship was “going anywhere.” He already knew, firsthand, better than anyone, what that relationship _was. _Draco had told him.

_I’m in love with him. I just… am._

It didn’t matter if the public was skeptical. There was a certainty in Draco the day he had broken up with Kyle that made Kyle realize it would be pointless to argue. And he hadn’t even known then that the man in question, the man Draco was dumping Kyle for, was Harry Potter. But it didn’t matter. Draco’s conviction had been evident, and the photos accompanying the article only confirmed how crazy they were about each other.

_The photos_. Kyle swallowed back the bit of bile that had risen in his throat and looked them over. Draco and Potter walking down the streets of Diagon Alley, shoulder to shoulder; Draco and Potter sharing idle touches while they browsed for books in Flourish & Blotts; Draco leaning over to say something in Potter’s ear, and Potter smiling like he had a secret. And the finale, the Big One, the coup de grâce: Draco and Potter sharing ice cream at a table at Fortescue’s, staring at each other with more desire than was really decent to publish in a paper _anyone _could read, making a chocolatey mess of their mouths. And then Potter, his eyes flitting to Draco’s mouth, leaning over, wiping a bit of chocolate off of Draco’s pale lip (the photo was in black and white, but Kyle knew from experience just how pale Draco’s lips were) before leaning in for a kiss, so tender, their mouths meeting softly…

“Oh sweet Merlin, will you _please _stop torturing yourself?”

Kyle tore his eyes from the morbidly mesmerizing photograph and looked up at his office mate. She was staring at him with unmistakable irritation, what Kyle had come to understand early on as her “no-nonsense” face, her eyes thin slits and her lips pursed like she was sucking on a lemon.

“Honestly,” she went on, now that she had his attention. “He’s not even worth it. He’s Draco _bloody _Malfoy, and I can’t understand why you even liked him in the first place.”

Kyle sighed. He and Angelina had already had this conversation multiple times, and Kyle had wearied quickly of trying to explain that Draco had clearly changed and was no longer the same “stuck up little shite” that Angelina had known at Hogwarts. Angelina never believed him when he said this, so he didn’t see the point of continuing the argument.

“Well, he’s with _your _friend now,” he said instead, smiling grimly, “so you’re going to have to put up with him.”

“We’ll see how long it lasts,” Angelina replied with a small smirk. “George is very skeptical.” George Weasley was Angelina’s husband, as well as one of Harry Potter’s dear friends. They were practically family, really, the Weasleys and Potter, from what he had heard, which meant Angelina was practically family with the Savior as well. Kyle was aware that she, George, and their children always spent Christmas with Potter and that she had played Quidditch with him at Hogwarts for many years. She was about as close to an expert on Harry Potter as Kyle was ever going to get. “They hated each other in school, you know, Harry and Malfoy. And that’s not an exaggeration. It wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill dislike. They _hated _each other. I don’t see how that can all go out the window now, just because they’ve deluded themselves into thinking they’re in love. It’s only a matter of time before Harry wakes up and realizes he’s dating an absolute prat.”

_Not likely_, Kyle thought darkly. Angelina didn’t know the present-day Draco. She had no idea how wonderful he really was. How sexy and smart and… _nice _(that was what really got him, how _nice _Draco had been from the beginning, how generous). If Potter fancied himself in love, he had no reason to give Draco up, not when he _had _him all to himself. And Draco… well, Draco was in love as well, and he wasn’t about to give up Harry Potter. No one would be crazy enough to do that.

It was inevitable. The two men were going to get married and have lots of babies and live happily ever after. The bastards.

“We’ll see,” Kyle said, knowing how stubborn Angelina was. In truth, he liked that about her. He liked most things about her, in fact. She was, without question, his favorite person in the department, and he thanked his lucky stars every day that it was she he had been assigned to share an office with.

“That’s not the point anyway,” Angelina said. “The point is you need to stop tormenting yourself over this. It doesn’t do you any good.”

“I’m not tormenting myself,” Kyle replied, his eyes returning to the paper. “I’m just coming to terms with reality.”

Angelina made a skeptical noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, and Kyle ignored her. He was telling the truth.

He just didn’t want to have any illusions. He didn’t want to get lost in fantasies, lying in bed at night, of Draco miraculously realizing that beautiful, famous sex gods weren’t actually his type after all and that the only person he ever truly cared about in this cold, cruel world was Kyle Bergeron (Kyle’s fantasies had, he could admit, an annoying tendency to slip into the realm of melodramatic if he let them). He didn’t want to hang onto feelings for a man who was in love with someone else, no matter how great that man happened to be.

So he looked at the photos. He took in every detail, because it only further reminded him that he and Draco _were never going to happen_, and he needed to be reminded. It was a painful but necessary process.

One that was unexpectedly interrupted by a knock on their office door.

“Come in!” Angelina called, while Kyle returned his attention to the paper and silently prayed it wasn’t who he suspected it was.

His prayers were, as per usual, in vain. The door opened and Clint Monarch, a colleague of theirs, stuck his head around the door.

“Good morning,” he said to both of them in his deep, soft voice. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” Angelina said, smiling widely at him (she _always _smiled widely at him, Kyle thought with some resentment). “What brings you in?”

“I had a couple of questions for Kyle, actually,” the man replied, looking at Kyle with a hopeful widening of his dark eyes. “Do you have a few minutes?”

Kyle suppressed a sigh and nodded, aware that, considering he was currently at his desk perusing the gossip pages, he was clearly not all that busy. To claim anything else would be a lie, and Kyle was rather big on honesty. Always had been, even when it was damn inconvenient. “Sure. Grab a seat.”

He was hardly surprised at this point. This had become an almost weekly ritual. He wasn’t sure how Clint had gotten it into his head that Kyle was the end-all, be-all expert on experimental charms (the department itself was called Charms Development, after all, indicating that _everyone _working there was an expert, including Clint himself), but it was a regular habit for the other wizard to pop by for a quick discussion on whatever he was working on. Yes, it was true that the two men happened to work on projects that were quite similar to each other, more so than anyone else at the office. But did that mean that Clint had to _always _come to Kyle with his questions? Angelina, Hannah, or Willem could all be equally helpful. But _no_…

Clint grabbed Kyle’s extra chair and spun it around, sitting himself on it backwards in what Kyle couldn’t help thinking was some sort of straight-guy-proving-his-effortless-masculinity-in-front-of-the-gay-guy maneuver. He leaned forward, his broad back slouching a bit as his dark, muscular arms rested crossed against the back of the chair. Kyle only grew more annoyed.

“You have a lot of experience working with charmed textiles, yeah?” Clint asked him,

This was how it always started, with some sort of quasi-compliment about Kyle’s extensive Charms experience, a blatant attempt to butter him up and make him more susceptible to being pumped for information. And unfortunately, due to Kyle’s whole honesty thing, it usually worked.

“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “Especially in my work back in Toronto.”

“I remember you mentioning that,” said Clint with a small smile. “I was hoping to find out if you ever, during your work, noticed a difference between products that had been charmed post-production versus pre-production. Essentially I’m wondering if charming raw materials _before _production will make the charm last longer on the product, or if it doesn’t make a difference.”

Kyle leaned back in his chair, finding himself surprised. It was actually a pretty interesting question.

“I’ve never tested it in a controlled environment,” he said, “which would be the best way to get your answer.” Clint leaned forward even more, nodding as Kyle talked. “But I developed products that required both charmed raw materials and post-production charms, and I have to say I think the pre-production charms are better. They don’t just last longer. I think they’re more powerful too, but that’s just based on observation. It’s just anecdotal. Like I said, you’d have to test it.”

“Sure, sure,” Clint said, nodding some more.

“And you’d have to run _a lot _of tests, because different charms work in different ways.” _Which you should already know, considering you study this for a living_, he added silently to himself.

“So it might depend on the nature of the charm.”

“It likely does.”

“Which charms would you test such a theory on first?”

Resisting the urge to sigh again, Kyle scoured his desk for some parchment. “It will be easier if I just make you a list,” he said.

“Thanks,” Clint said, sounding surprised. “That’s really decent of you.”

“Not a problem,” Kyle murmured. It wasn’t a lie, per se. The department was designed to be a cooperative environment rather than a competitive one, and colleagues were encouraged to share ideas. Kyle didn’t have to fear for his job even if Clint did occasionally encroach onto his “territory.” Still, it _was _annoying.

He began scribbling quickly, jotting down all the relevant charms he could think of and (because apparently he couldn’t avoid being obsessively thorough, even for weekly irritants like Clint) subdividing them into their various categories in order of priority.

“Here,” he said when he had finished, handing the parchment to the dark-skinned wizard, who hadn’t moved or even looked away from him in all the time that he’d been writing. “This should keep you plenty busy.”

“Wow,” he said, looking the list over. “This is great. Thanks. Really.”

“Sure. Like I said, not a problem.”

“I’ll let you know how it goes.”

_I’m sure you will_, Kyle thought drily. “Sounds good.”

Clint blinked at him, and Kyle waited to see if he was going to say something else. But he didn’t, only shook himself a moment before standing. Instead of leaving the office however, the man did what he usually did once he was done grilling Kyle: he went over to Angelina’s desk and started chatting her up.

Kyle swallowed yet another sigh and returned to the paper, going back to the section with the Draco/Potter photos. He did his best to concentrate on those and not the affable murmurings and occasional fits of laughter emanating from his neighbor’s desk.

It shouldn’t bother him. He knew Clint and Angelina were friends and had been for years. Kyle knew that he couldn’t expect to have a friendship with either of them that was as comfortable as theirs, given that he was still the new guy in the department and an incurable introvert to boot. Still, the whole situation made him feel used in a painfully familiar way. It brought him back to his days at Ilvermorny, where he had spent an embarrassing amount of time helping cute, straight boys with their homework before being brushed aside as soon as a hot girl was in the vicinity.

They were always the same type too: sporty, popular, and so used to getting their way they never considered the possibility of being turned down. Kyle didn’t know why he always agreed to help them (although it probably had something to do with his low self esteem and their chiseled physiques), but he did. Merlin help him.

And now, as an adult, he was helping out popular, sporty, straight guys like Clint Monarch, though for thoroughly different reasons. Though Kyle did not particular like Clint or want to be friends with him, he was smart enough to realize that being unkind to Clint would just make everyone else in the office hate him.

Because _everyone _liked Clint, even Rosemary, their supervisor, who seemed to hate just about everyone else. Clint had wormed his way into her heart somehow; he was the only one she would smile at, and she always scheduled him the best lab hours. It wasn’t just Rosemary, either. He was one of those people who had something to offer everyone. His office mate Willem liked him because Clint would bring him tea and listen to him ramble on about weather-altering charms for an hour first thing in the morning. Hannah liked him because he was always asked after her kneazle, Justine (though Kyle was sure that the fact that Clint was tall, muscular, and objectively good-looking also helped matters). Rico liked him because Clint had played Quidditch at Hogwarts and now followed the English League religiously. And Angelina… well Angelina probably liked Clint for all of the above reasons, and then some.

And Kyle just… _didn’t_. The fact that Clint had everything in the world going for him and was beloved by all to the point that he could get away with just about anything probably had something to do with it. That would be his guess. Kyle had a bit of a hard time relating to people like that, it turned out.

“Look at him brooding away over there,” Angelina was saying now, loud enough for Kyle to hear. “Not paying us any attention at all.”

Kyle looked up from the paper to find both Clint and Angelina staring at him. “What?”

“Are you still looking at those photographs?” Angelina asked him accusingly.

“Yes,” Kyle replied, matching her tone. He saw Angelina cast a sidelong glance at Clint.

“You see,” she said, a little quieter this time, though Kyle could still make out the words. “This is what I’m talking about.”

Kyle’s gaze slid over to Clint, who was watching him with an expression of overt pity. Kyle felt his cheeks heat and he looked away, chewing on his bottom lip. The whole office knew about his relationship with Draco and the messy breakup afterward. Still, he didn’t much like the idea that people were gossiping about it behind his back.

And he _really _didn’t like the idea that Clint felt sorry for him. That was the last thing he needed.

Clint Monarch. It was a stupid name. And he wasn’t even that good-looking, despite what everyone else seemed to think. His ears stuck out a bit and his nose was crooked (from a Quidditch injury, Kyle guessed, though he’d never asked) and he always spoke too softly for someone so large. You had to practically strain your ears to be able to hear him in meetings, like he was intent on making you work for it.

“He’s really just going to ignore us,” said Angelina, making Kyle look up again.

“Are you talking about me?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Who else would we be talking about?”

“I wasn’t deliberately ignoring you,” Kyle said defensively. “It just seemed like you wanted to talk _about _me rather than _to _me, so I figured you didn’t actually need my input.”

Angelina stuck her tongue out at him, which made him smile, in spite of himself.

“I was telling Clint here that I can’t make it to pub night this week, because George has a night event for the shop and Molly and Arthur are traveling and can’t take the kids. But I will definitely be there next week. And then Clint was wondering if _you _were coming to pub night this week, and I said I didn’t know. And then I asked you if you were coming to pub night, and you ignored me.”

“I didn’t hear you,” said Kyle.

“Well, I understand that now. So, are you coming to pub night?” Angelina reiterated.

“You should,” said Clint.

“I don’t know,” Kyle replied hesitantly. “Lindsey might want to do something.” It was mostly an excuse, though he was sure his sister would be game to hang out with him if he asked. But it was more that Kyle was not particularly interested in going to the weekly office pub night if Angelina wasn’t going to be there. Willem never went, being old and married and all, and Hannah only attended sporadically, so there was a good chance that it would only be Clint and Rico this week. Kyle was not in the mood to spend a couple of hours talking about nothing but Quidditch and/or Rico’s current conquests. At least with Angelina or Hannah around, there was some variety in the conversation.

“But you’re always hanging out with Lindsey.”

“Well, she’s only here for another few weeks. I have to make it count.”

Angelina hummed. “I suppose so. Come next Friday, then. You could even bring Lindsey along, if you want.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Kyle.

He returned to the paper, hearing Angelina sigh and murmur something to Clint about it being a “hopeless business.”

Kyle ignored her, his eyes finding the picture of Potter kissing Draco again.

***

Kyle did, when he visited Lindsey’s for dinner later in the week, invite her to the following Friday’s pub night. But she had other plans.

“I already told Pansy I was coming to her party on Friday,” she said. “I’m sorry. If you’d asked me earlier…”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “It just amazes me. Apparently I have to book over a week in advance to get onto my sister’s social calendar, even when she came to London for the sole purpose of visiting _me _to begin with.”

She glanced at him, fork pausing over her plate of pasta. To his surprise and chagrin she looked somewhat guilty. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I do really want to spend time with you, you know. Maybe I shouldn’t have accepted the invitation, when I knew you wouldn’t want to go.”

“It’s fine,” he said. He hadn’t meant to make her actually feel bad about it. “I like Pansy. I’ll just come to the party with you instead.”

She eyed him. “I’m pretty sure Draco is going to be there, and I’m pretty sure he’s bringing Harry Potter with him.”

Kyle considered that prospect. “It’ll be ok,” he said. “It’s going to be a big party, right? It always is.”

“Yes, probably,” his sister replied, her tone still hesitant. “But you shouldn’t have to put yourself through that, for my sake.”

“It’s not going to kill me.”

“You could just go to the pub night on your own. I don’t mind. Or I could cancel on Pansy.”

“No,” Kyle insisted. “That’s stupid. And I don’t care about pub night. I care about spending time with you, and I care about _you _having a good time while you’re here. And I know you’ve made friends and you want to maximize your time with everyone you can before you leave, and that’s great. So that’s what we’ll do. I’m fine with it. Really.”

In truth, some part of him was relieved to be able to avoid a night out with his colleagues yet again. He still hadn’t fully figured out how he fit with them yet.

Lindsey stared at him for a long time, like she was trying to read his mind, or maybe waiting for him to rescind his decision. Kyle didn’t, and he had been telling the truth. There was nothing else she would be able to read on his face.

“Fine,” she said. “Good. I’m glad we’ll get a chance to spend some more time together, and I’m glad you’re able to put this whole Draco thing behind you. Maybe you’ll meet some interesting people at the party.”

“Sure,” Kyle said, though there was a chance he was only humoring her. “Maybe.”

***

Offering to attend the party had been a terrible idea. Kyle really didn’t know what he had been thinking. Other than the dinner party at which he had met Draco all those weeks ago, he’d never had a particularly good time amongst Pansy’s aristocratic friends.

Pansy wasn’t really a snob herself – Kyle did genuinely like her, in fact – but she had accumulated a lot of snobby acquaintances, and Kyle always found he didn’t have that much to say to them. It was hard to carry a conversation that lasted more than ten minutes. His usual MO at these events, then, was to stick close to Lindsey most of the time. That or talk to Pansy or her husband Theo, who was down to earth and not all that into small talk either, if he could help it.

At the moment, though, Lindsey was being chatted up by some good-looking cousin of Theo’s, and Kyle got the impression, based on the big doe eyes she was giving the wizard, that she wouldn’t want to be interrupted. And Pansy and Theo had been in the main parlor all night, talking to Harry Potter, Draco ever by his side.

So Kyle was avoiding that part of the house like the plague, obviously.

Beyond just that it was painful to see his ex with someone else, Kyle also knew any attempt to work his way into that conversation would be unwelcome. Draco wouldn’t want to deal with the awkwardness, and Potter probably hated him.

Kyle had (stupidly) not picked up on any subtext during that first interaction in Diagon Alley, the night he and Draco were buying wine. At the time he’d assumed that Potter’s coolness was just part of his celebrity image. Now Kyle understood that it was more likely resentment at seeing the love of his life with someone else. But he hadn’t understood it _then_, so rather than follow Potter’s lead, as someone savvier would have done, he had overcompensated with friendliness. Like the awkward weirdo he was.

It was pretty mortifying to think about.

Either Potter hated him for having dated Draco or he felt sorry for him for getting dumped. Either option was horrible, and Kyle was resolved to never talk to Potter again in his life if he could at all help it.

He walked around in the gardens for a while, a warming glass of beer in his hand that he had barely touched. Dusk was just descending, giving the gardens a muted glow as the light reflected off a nearby pond and the glossy leaves of the gardenia bushes surrounding it. It was a striking sight, or at least it should have been, if Kyle was in the mood to be struck by that kind of beauty. At the moment he was having a hard time getting beyond the memories of the last time he had wandered this garden. It had been with a very different purpose then, seeking out a certain blond-haired wizard rather than avoiding him.

He’d felt daring that night. Draco’s attentions had made him brave, and Kyle had decided to take a chance. He almost never pursued men; he’d never been confident enough. He let himself be pursued, and always with some shock that it was happening in the first place.

But Draco made him feel different. He made Kyle feel good. At least for a little while.

He came upon a familiar stone bench and stopped in his tracks. It was the same bench where he and Draco had sat for a while, the night of the dinner party, talking about their romantic history. It was where Draco had openly expressed an interest in Kyle and invited him back to Malfoy Manor for a drink. It was where Kyle had put his hand on Draco’s, where Draco had traced his fingers along Kyle’s cheek, where they had kissed for the first time.

“Fuck my life,” he grumbled under his breath, turning to go back the way he had come. This had been a terrible, stupid, _terrible _idea. Really.

On his way back toward the house he heard voices, and noticed a group coming out of the French doors and into the stone-paved entrance of the gardens. His stomach sank as he immediately recognized Draco’s shock of platinum hair and Pansy’s graceful saunter. Harry Potter was there, too, of course, a possessive arm slung around Draco’s waist, while Theo brought up the rear.

_Merlin’s balls, _Kyle thought it panic, slipping down a side path and finding a spot behind a tall hedge. With any luck, he hadn’t been seen.

Not that he ever had much luck, really.

“We renovated the central fountain just this spring,” he heard Pansy say as the group got closer. “Draco’s already seen it, of course. But I think you’ll quite like it, Harry.”

“I’m sure I will,” Potter replied. “Lead the way.”

The group passed by Kyle’s hiding place, Pansy chattering away all the while, pointing out various details of the gardens and all that she had redone in the last few years.

“You designed it yourself?” Potter asked.

“Why, yes, in fact,” said Pansy, turning her head in the brunet’s direction.

Kyle caught a glimpse of her demure smile that turned please when Potter said, “You’re quite talented. This is all really stunning.”

Kyle rolled his eyes but was sure to keep silent as he watched the group stroll away, taking their time. Theo had come up front to walk beside his wife while the other two were lingering in the back. Potter still had a hand around Draco’s waist, and he leaned over to kiss the blond on the side of the head. Draco leaned into the kiss before snaking his arm around Potter’s back, his hand finding a pocket of the other’s chinos and giving his ass a squeeze.

Kyle hadn’t realized he was making a fist until he felt the bite of fingernails digging into his palm. He relaxed, letting out a slow breath, and waited until the group had turned a corner and disappeared from view entirely. Then he stepped out from behind the hedge and, seeing that the path was clear, headed back to the house.

He should just leave the party. What was the point anyway? He wasn’t enjoying time with Lindsey if he was hiding between the hedgerows and avoiding the hosts of the event. He wasn’t enjoying time with anyone.

Knowing he ought to at least say goodbye, though, he went in search of his sister. He found her in the lounge retrieving another drink.

“Kyle!” she said, smiling. “I was wondering where you’d got to. Here, I want you to meet someone.”

“Actually, I think I’m just gonna go,” he said with a sheepish look. “This isn’t really…” He shrugged. “I guess you were right. I wasn’t ready.”

Her forehead crinkled in concern. “Did something happen?”

“No. Nothing _happened. _It’s just…” He waved a hand. “Them.”

Lindsey hummed. “They are really cozy, aren’t they?” she said, making a face.

Kyle rolled his eyes again. “Disgustingly so. I just don’t want to spend the whole night running around the house trying to be where they _aren’t_. So…”

“Yeah,” Lindsey agreed. “Ok. That’s fair. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She stared at him, her eyes sad. “It’s early, you know,” she said after a minute. “You could still make it to the pub.”

“What?”

“With your friends from work? They’re probably still going to be there a while, don’t you think?”

“Oh.” Kyle shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on, please? Please don’t just go home and wallow. Go have fun, distract yourself. Get to know your coworkers better. They really like you, I can tell. They _want _you to go out with them.”

“I guess.”

“They do.” She put a hand on his arm. “Promise me you’ll go. Please.”

He watched his sister, wondering how they could have ended up so different, wishing he knew where her ease and grace with other people, with herself, came from. He tried. Sometimes, he really did try. But usually it was lost on him.

“Ok, I promise,” he said, giving in.

She hugged him. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I just need to know you can be happy.”

***

It was with some trepidation that he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron only a few minutes later. He immediately looked towards the back of the pub at the group’s usual table and found that, sure enough, they were there, sitting around with half-consumed pints in their hands and talking animatedly. He felt considerably better when he noticed that Angelina was among them, sitting next to Clint with Hannah and Rico across from them in the booth.

“You’re here!” his office mate cried as he approached, jumping up from her seat to give him a hug.

He returned it, her enthusiasm allowing a small, real smile to grace his lips. “I’m here,” he agreed.

“You need a drink,” she said. “I’ll get you one. You just sit down right there,” she indicated the empty spot next to Clint that she had just vacated, “and tell me what you want.”

“Oh, no,” Kyle insisted, glancing at Clint briefly. “I don’t want to steal your seat.”

“Nonsense,” said Angelina. “I’ll just pull up a chair. _Sit._” She practically shoved him into the seat, and Kyle felt his side brush Clint’s as the two were jostled together. Kyle gave Clint an apologetic grimace before Angelina got his attention again. “What do you want?”

“Oh…” He considered the fact that he’d practically ignored the beer he’d been served at Pansy’s, having felt a little nauseous the entire evening. His stomach needed something lighter, he decided. “A cider, thanks. Whatever they have.”

“Coming right up.” Angelina grinned at him once more before making her way to the bar.

Kyle turned to his other companions, trying to drum up something to ask, but Hannah beat him to it.

“So, the party was a dud then?”

Kyle snorted. “How did you guess?”

“We all knew it was going to be, mate,” said Rico, before taking a drag from his pint. “As soon as you told us you were going to go.”

“Were they there?” Hannah asked him gently, her brown eyes large and sympathetic.

Kyle didn’t have to ask who “they” were. “Yep. They sure were.”

Hannah nodded. “That must have been hard.”

Kyle shrugged.

“You’re better off, you know,” said Rico. “Everyone knows the Malfoys are a load of tossers. I mean, I know I was a few years behind you all in school, but even I heard a fair few things about Draco Malfoy.”

Kyle sighed. “Maybe that’s true of Draco’s parents. I don’t know. I never met them. But Draco isn’t like that.”

“You don’t have to keep defending him,” said Rico. “Just because you went out. You can hate his guts, for all we care.”

“You can,” said Hannah. “We don’t mind. I remember him well from school. He was awful. He was mean to anyone who wasn’t in Slytherin, anyone who wasn’t pureblood.”

“You played Quidditch against him, didn’t you Clint?” the younger wizard asked the man across from him. “Entitled prick he was, didn’t you say? Always whinging and threatening to tattle to his father when he didn’t get his way?”

“Something like that,” Clint murmured, staring into his pint.

“Angelina says the same thing. I heard you talking about it just the other week.”

Clint glanced at Kyle, something flashing across his face that might have been guilt. “Just leave it, Rico, yeah?”

“Look, Kyle, mate,” Rico said, leaning across the table and ignoring Clint for the moment. “What I’m trying to say is we’re on your side. Malfoy is a right git and always has been, and he did you wrong, and we know that. And you can say any shite you’d like about him, and we’ll cheer you on.”

“Thanks,” Kyle said. “I’ll keep that in mind. Mostly I’d just rather not talk about him anymore.”

“Talk about who?” Angelina asked, approaching the table with an entire tray of drinks.

“Draco Malfoy,” said Hannah.

“Oh, yes, by all _means_, let’s talk about anything but him,” she said, placing the tray on the table. It contained the cider and what looked like five firewhiskeys. “Here’s yours, darling,” Angelina said as she placed Kyle’s pint in front of him. “And I got whiskey for everyone. We’re celebrating tonight.”

Kyle felt his cheeks heat, thinking it was a bit extreme for them to “celebrate” just because he had finally shown up to a pub night for the first time in weeks.

It turned out _that _was a rather self-centered thing to think, as Kyle quickly learned that it was Clint’s most recent patent approval that was the subject of the celebration.

“Congratulations,” Kyle said to Clint, after they’d all toasted him and clinked glasses.

Clint shrugged and ducked his head. “It’s just a new method for imbuing mood-altering charms into metals. Not a big deal, really.”

“It will be good for the magical jewelry industry, at least,” said Angelina. “And will probably make you and the Ministry a fair amount of money.”

Clint just shrugged again, and Kyle shook his head. If his own pending patent had come through, he’d be dancing in his seat and buying everyone in the pub champagne. The process took forever and involved jumping through a lot of hoops. Yet Clint never complained about it. He didn’t even seem that excited about his success.

_Maybe that’s just how it is when you’re used to things going your way, _he thought with some bitterness. _You take it for granted._

He swallowed the resentment, though, chasing it with a sip of cider, knowing it wasn’t Clint’s fault he lived such a charmed life, pun intended. He knew Lindsey wanted him to make an effort, that Angelina wanted him to make an effort, and that spurred him to start a conversation with the wizard sitting next to him.

“How’s the new research going? Any progress?”

Clint seemed surprised at the question, but answered readily. “Really good. It’s in the early stages, obviously.”

“Sure.”

“But your list really helped me narrow down where to start. I’ve written up a protocol and put in my lab request to Rosemary.”

“Which will of course be attended to _immediately_,” Angelina chimed in good-heartedly. She fluttered her eyelashes and waved a hand about dramatically. “’Of course, Clint, my darling boy. Anything you need will be made available to you. All you have to do is say the word.'"

Clint rolled his eyes. “It’s not as much as all that.”

“Oh, but it _is_,” replied Angelina, grinning. “You’re just spoiled; you don’t realize. You should have seen the look on her face when I asked for an extra hour next week, just to run an extended version of my protocol. It was as though I was asking her to sell me her firstborn child.”

“That’s why I never bother to ask for a schedule change unless it’s a month in advance,” said Kyle. He’d been on the receiving end of Rosemary’s passive aggressive wrath enough to last a lifetime, and he’d barely been in the department five months.

“I always forget until the last minute,” said Rico, shaking his dark swoop of hair out of his eyes. “And then I realize I have to ask anyway, and she gives me the Death Glare.”

“We know it well,” Angelina said with mock solemnity. “Hannah does the best impression of her. Have you seen it?”

Hannah’s lips twitched in a smile before she went very still, her posture suddenly rigid. She tilted her head just so, then, and with her eyes in slits and her mouth twisted like she smelled something horrible, she really did look uncannily like their boss. Kyle heard Clint chuckle softly beside him.

Hannah heaved a huge, put-upon sigh, and said, her voice suddenly much scratchier than before, “So you want an extra thirteen minutes on Thursday? This should have been requested _weeks _ago, you know. You haven’t even done the paperwork correctly. Form IBC3, which you ought to know must be filed…” She looked around at each of them, her right eye twitching in a way that had Kyle snorting in recognition. She hesitated for effect. “…in _triplicate_.”

The entire table roared with laughter, and Hannah looked pleased.

“It’s the sneer,” said Angelina as she clutched her stomach. “Gets me every time.”

“It’s the eye twitch,” argued Kyle, wiping his eyes and continuing to chuckle. “It’s uncanny.”

They continued to air their grievances about Rosemary, everyone but Clint having a number of horror stories to share. Rico tired of this first, citing that it was Friday and why should they be thinking about work when they had a whole weekend ahead of them? Kyle agreed, though as soon as Rico launched into something about Quidditch, directed mainly at Clint, he lost interest. He turned to the women at the table, happy to talk with them instead.

Only then Rico and Clint got into some heated discussion about so-and-so Chaser getting traded to the Kestrels, and Angelina caught a whiff of it and wanted to join in.

“Oi, hold on,” she said to the two men. “I have to get in on this.” She nudge Hannah to move her seat, and Kyle was ignored when he offered her his.

“Sorry,” he said to Hannah as she took the chair at the end of the table and watched Angelina dive headfirst into the argument with the other two sports fanatics.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hannah replied with a soft smile. “I know better than to get between Angelina and her Quidditch.”

“Or any of them,” said Kyle, matching her eye roll. He leaned in, keeping his voice low. “I’ve honestly never understood the appeal. I mean, don’t they realize the whole game is based on one member of each team and whether they catch the Snitch at the end? It’s worth a hundred and fifty freaking points. Why does the rest of the team even matter, at that point?”

Hannah giggled. “I’ve always thought the same thing. Don’t let Angelina catch you saying that, though, otherwise you’ll get a whole lecture on the importance of Chasers and how they ‘prep’ the Seekers for success, and you _really _don’t want that.”

Kyle shuddered dramatically. “Merlin save me if that happens.”

She grinned at him. “Not that much into sport, then?” she asked.

Kyle shrugged. “I don’t mind some of it. There are a few Muggle sports I actually really like watching. I’ve never _played _any, obviously. I’ve never had the coordination. But I don’t mind watching. Especially if it involves athletic men running around in tight pants.”

Hannah giggled again. “I’ll grant you that,” she said. “Though Quidditch leathers are actually pretty tight, you know, so there are benefits there as well.”

“Yeah, but they hide them under the robes. And even if they didn’t, the rules are so stupid that the tightness of their pants hardly makes up for it.”

Hannah sighed, resting her chin on one of her hands. “I don’t disagree, but sometimes I wonder if I’d like Quidditch more if my house team ever won, back in school. I was a Hufflepuff, you know, and for whatever reason our house always seemed devoid of decent Quidditch players. Either that or they were terrible at spotting talent. The only year we were decent in my memory was when Cedric Diggory was captain. He even bested the Gryffindors, and they had Harry Potter!”

Kyle winced, unable to help it, and Hannah was immediately apologetic. “Oh no, I didn’t mean to bring him up,” she said grabbing his arm in entreaty. “I know he’s the last thing you want to talk about.”

“It’s fine,” said Kyle. “He’s everywhere I turn, so I should probably get used to it.”

“Ugh, that’s awful,” she said, grimacing in sympathy. “My breakup was bad enough, but if I had to read in the papers about Neville with someone else all the time…” She trailed off.

Kyle winced internally with guilt. He’d forgotten, actually, that Hannah had gone through a bad breakup recently herself. Granted, it had happened before he even arrived, but it had also been a topic of much discussion when he’d first started at the department. He should have remembered, given that he’d thought at the time how well he and Hannah might be able to bond over recent heartbreak. Draco had obviously distracted him from all that.

“On the flip side,” he said, “your relationship lasted much longer than mine, so it has to be harder to deal with in that respect. In truth, I should probably be over the whole Draco thing by now. Or at least that’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

“Oh, don’t go listening to other people about that sort of thing,” Hannah said. She frowned into her whiskey glass, looking suddenly despondent to realize it was empty. Kyle pushed his full one towards her, since he wasn’t really in the mood for liquor, and she accepted it with a tipsy smile. She knocked back a large sip before continuing. “Everyone has opinions about how long it’s supposed to take, formulas to calculate the length of time appropriate for mourning the end of a relationship. But I don’t think it’s as simple as all that. It’s about what the relationship was _like_, how it ended, who broke up with whom. But also…” She tilted the glass to and fro, her mouth in a pensive frown.

“But also…?” Kyle prompted, when she took a bit to long to finish.

Her frown deepened, and Kyle started to wonder if Hannah was drunker than he’d first thought. “But also…” her eyes were closed now in concentration. “Your… vision for the future. The life you thought you would have. When you make plans and you think you know where you’re going and then suddenly…” She imitated the sound of a bomb exploding, closed hands expanding outward in a gesture to further emphasize her point. “It blows up in your face. And then what are you left with? I had a friend ask me recently why I was still so distraught over Neville, if the breakup was mutual. She thought that because I’d had a hand in it ending, because it had partially been my choice, then that meant it was _easy. _But it was _so _far from easy. It was devastating. It was the hardest decision I ever made. Because I thought I knew exactly where my life was going and then suddenly…” She shook her head, actually looking a bit teary. “Suddenly it was all wrong, and I _knew _it was wrong. But I was so scared, knowing that if I let that vision for my future go, then I would have nothing. Even though I knew it was best for it was still so, so terrifying.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Kyle said, leaning forward. “That was how I felt when I decided to leave Toronto. I knew my relationship with Evan wasn’t working, but it was still hard to walk away. Even after everything he put me through, I was scared to be alone, almost to the point where I considered staying with him.”

“I’m glad you left,” Hannah said. “It was the right thing for you to do.”

“And it sounds like it was right thing for you and Neville, too, even though it was hard.”

“It was,” Hannah agreed. “I still miss him though. I have regrets. I’m trying really hard not to, but sometimes I can’t help it. Especially at night, when I go to bed alone.”

“Gods, I know exactly what you mean. It took so much getting used to, not sharing a bed with someone else after you’ve done it for a while.”

“I know, right? Even when he snored or talked in his sleep, it was still comforting to have him there. I almost missed the noise.”

Kyle was about to say something else, but was interrupted when someone chucked a balled up napkin at his head.

“Hey,” he said, turning to the culprit in annoyance. It didn’t take long to figure out that it was Angelina, just by the look on her face. “We’re having a conversation here.”

“A depressing conversation,” Angelina qualified. “And this is supposed to be a fun night.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Hannah, surprising everyone at the table. “We can talk about our bad breakups if we want to.”

“It’s time for both of you to stop wallowing,” Angelina said, finishing off her whiskey, “and start living.”

“I’ve got to agree with Ange,” said Rico. “What’s the point, anyway? I’d never get so upset over a girl.”

“That’s because you’re a manslut,” Hannah said, crossing her arms and pouting, “and you have no idea what it’s like to fall in love or to have your heart broken.”

Angelina rolled her eyes, and Hannah dug into her next. “And _you _are happily married and have been for years. So you really can’t give me any shite, considering everything had worked out for you and you don’t know what this feels like.”

Kyle cringed at the look on Angelina’s face. In her drunkenness, Hannah was being a bit harsh. Though, in truth, he had wanted to say these exact same things and never did, due to the whole wanting to be liked thing.

“I’ll have you know that my first boyfriend died in the war,” Angelina said acidly. “So I do know a thing or two about it.”

“All right,” Clint’s voice cut in, just loud enough to be heard over the other patrons in the bar. “This isn’t the direction we want to take this conversation, is it?”

Angelina and Hannah looked at each other a moment, before Hannah’s face fell and she said, a bit tremulously, “Sorry, Ange. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Angelina sighed, her face softening. “I’m sorry too,” she said. “I know this has been hard. You can keep talking about it, if you need to.”

“No,” Hannah said, suddenly sounding a bit sleepy. She lay her head on Angelina’s shoulder and nuzzled, though the angle was awkward.

“All right, all right,” said Angelina, putting an arm around there. “There, there, love. Come have a snuggle. Scoot over, Rico, make room.”

Rico grumbled but did as she asked, and Hannah was promptly shuffled into the booth next to her friend, where she seemed to drift into a relatively peaceful doze.

Kyle found himself leaning into Clint to say something. “Nice one. Good diffusion of the situation.”

Clint smiled, seeming pleased by this. “I’ve learned the hard way.”

“I imagine you have.”

With Hannah temporarily down for the count, the other four made conversation. With Kyle in the mix, Clint suggested they talk about something other than Quidditch, and conversation went back in the direction of work, at least for a little while. Angelina, noticing most of their glasses were empty, called for another round, which Clint insisted he buy despite many protests.

“It’s your night!” Angelina cried.

“And I just made lots of money,” Clint argued, in an uncharacteristic display of frankness, “so I can afford it.”

Angelina had no way of arguing with that, and after Clint handed her the coins she went off, returning only when she had another tray of liquor. Hannah, in the meantime, was passed off to Rico, who she seemed fine with using as a temporary pillow instead.

“Friends from Work” was starting to feel more and more like an accurate moniker as the night went on, Kyle realized. They seemed to genuinely enjoy his company and listened to him when he talked. They asked him all sorts of questions about Canada and his old job, deftly avoiding the subjects of Draco or Evan.

Eventually the evening started to devolve a bit. Rico spotted a cute witch at the bar and left his coworkers to go chat her up. Hannah remained essentially passed out against the wall of the booth, in the space Rico had vacated. Clint had gone to the bathroom, and in the meantime Angelina had slid in next to Kyle on his side, looking a little worse for wear herself.

“I’m so glad you came tonight,” she told him, her words slurring a bit. “Even if you were late.”

“Me too,” Kyle said honestly. “I don’t know what I was thinking, attending a party where I knew Draco was going to be. I thought I would be fine, but…”

“Well, _I _tried to tell you,” Angelina said. “But you never listen to me.”

“I listen sometimes,” Kyle griped, though only half-heartedly.

“If I’d told you it was going to be the whole group, would you have thought about coming?”

“Maybe,” Kyle admitted. “I always have more fun when you and Hannah are here.”

“And we always have more fun with _you_,” Angelina said, curling up to his side. “Cute. You’re cute. You have a good face.” She poked him on either cheek. “Symmetrical.”

Kyle laughed. “Um, thanks, I guess?”

“You’re going to get another boyfriend in no time, I’m sure. All you have to do is ask.”

“If you say so.”

Angelina nuzzled into him. “I wish George was here. That’s the only thing that’s missing.”

“Yeah, I always like it when he comes along.” George knew how to make sure everyone in the room was having fun. He was just that kind of guy, something Kyle had always admired about him.

“He’s a good one.”

“You’re lucky, you know,” Kyle told her. “Not everybody finds that.”

“You’ll find it,” Angelina said, her face scrunching as she tried to make him out in the dim light of the pub. “I know you will.”

“Mm, maybe.”

Angelina sighed. “George. He’s cute. I have a cute husband.”

Kyle laughed. “Sure. He’s not my type, though. Never been all that into pasty gingers.”

If Angelina were sober, Kyle had no doubt that she would smack him upside the head for that remark. Thankfully, she wasn’t, and she simply hummed and said, “Yeah, I _love _pasty gingers.”

Kyle rested his head on top of hers. “I know you do.”

Clint returned from the restroom then, to see that his spot had been taken. He seemed unfazed, taking a seat next to a passed out Hannah instead.

“Sorry, Clinty love,” Angelina said sleepily. “But Kylie love is so comfy. You wouldn’t know it, ‘cause he’s so bony-looking. But he’s really quite snuggle-able.”

Clint laughed. “I’m sure that’s true.” He met Kyle’s eyes for a moment, and Kyle rolled his eyes, smiling. In truth, he was rather enjoying the attention.

“How are you doing?” Clint asked him, after a minute. “Do you need another drink?”

“I’m fine,” Kyle replied. He was still nursing his current whiskey, and felt no need for another. Between that and the glass of cider, he was pleasantly tipsy, exactly where he wanted to be. “How about you? I’m happy to grab you something. I haven’t bought all night.”

Clint waved him off. “I’m fine. Don’t like to drink that much anyways. Besides, you’re on pillow duty, and that’s monumentally important.”

Kyle grinned. “Apparently so.”

They chatted for a minute or two, about nothing in particular: work, the latest news, and then Rico returned to them.

“No luck, then?” Clint asked him.

“She has a boyfriend,” Rico said, looking dejected as he slumped into the chair at the end of the table.

“You were talking her up for a while,” Kyle pointed out.

“Well, she may have had a boyfriend, but I was still going to make an _effort_,” Rico argued. “Did you see how cute she was? And those _tits_…”

“Ew, gross,” said Kyle, making a face. “Seriously.”

“You’re a pig, Rico,” Clint said, and though his tone was playful, there was a slight edge to it that Kyle barely picked up on. “Have some respect, for Merlin’s sake.”

“What?” Rico looked between the two of them. “Is there something wrong with admiring a woman’s breasts? I don’t think so.”

“You don’t have to talk about them,” Kyle said. “There’s a gay guy sitting right here who gives exactly no shits about tits.”

Angelina snorted into his shoulder. “Shits about tits.”

They all busted into a fit of snickers, all except for Hannah, who was still dead to the world.

“I ought to get Han home I guess,” said Rico. “She’s going to be feeling it tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’s about time to call it a night,” Kyle agreed. “I’ll Apparate Angelina. I haven’t had that much, should be fine.”

“You sure?” Clint asked. “I’m happy to do it. I haven’t had that much either.”

Kyle waved him off, but when it came time to rouse Angelina, she insisted herself that she could use the pub’s floo no problem, declining any offer of help.

She seemed to be walking fine, so the boys let her go. Rico then followed, taking Hannah with him to the floo. Clint and Kyle were left standing in the pub, ready to go.

“I Apparate home,” Kyle said, by way of making conversation. “Don’t have a floo.” It meant having to walk a few blocks to the Apparition point, which was annoying. The Leaky didn’t let people Apparate inside the premises, and one couldn’t just randomly pop into existence to the front door, in the middle of a Muggle thoroughfare.

“Oh,” Clint said. “Right.”

“Yeah, um, Muggle apartment. No fireplace,” Kyle clarified, though he didn’t know why he felt a need to explain. Clint was just sort of staring at him, and he wanted to fill the silence.

Clint nodded. “Well, I’ll walk you. I was going to Apparate home tonight too.”

“Great,” Kyle replied, not knowing if he meant it. Company while walking on your own at night was nice to have, but it also meant making conversation for another few minutes, and Kyle was not the kind of guy who was very good at making conversation. Particularly with someone he had yet to really figure out.

And Clint Monarch fit that bill pretty clearly.

The first half block of their walk was silent, Clint not seeming to make much of an effort while Kyle dug around for _something _to say. Eventually he remembered Clint’s patent approval, and figured it might be worth bringing up again. It was better than awkward silence, anyway.

“Congrats again on the patent,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound forced. “That’s really exciting.”

Clint gave his usual shrug, his mouth lifting in a small, shy smile. “Frees me from all that paperwork, anyway. It was getting old.”

Kyle snorted. “You’re telling me. I’m buried in three patents’ worth of paperwork right now. It feels like it will never end.”

“That’s rough,” Clint said, shaking his head. “But, you know… rather impressive at the same time.”

Kyle’s brow furrowed. “How so?”

“Three patents pending… you’ve been busy, that’s all. You’re very productive.”

“They’ve been a long time coming,” Kyle assured him. “I guess I’m pretty productive when it comes to lab work. But when it comes to government bureaucracy and paperwork, I drag my feet about as much as the next person.”

Clint chuckled softly. “I think we all do. It’s not very motivating, that kind of work. I’d always rather be in the lab.”

“Me too,” Kyle said, sighing. “Unfortunately, the only lab time I’m getting these days is when I get a request to verify a finding. I almost pray for those requests, some days, even though it means dragging out the approval process even more. Just to get a chance to really _do _something instead of sit at my desk all day.”

“Maybe you could start a new project,” Clint suggested. “That’s what I always do. If I don’t give myself at least some experimenting to do, I start to go a bit barmy. Even if the research never goes anywhere… at least I’m in the lab, right?”

“That’s true,” Kyle said. “I’ll think about it.” It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. Though he could see himself feeling guilty for starting a new project when he had three others left unfinished. And he never did all that well with guilt.

They were silent again as they covered the last leg of the journey to the Apparition point. When they ducked down the side alley, the designated spot came into view.

“Well, I guess this-“ Kyle began, but Clint suddenly interrupted him.

“You should be proud,” he blurted. “Of everything you’re doing here. At the Ministry, I mean.”

“Oh,” Kyle said, taken aback, though not necessarily in a bad way. Clint shuffled his feet, looking almost nervous, and Kyle realized the other wizard was just trying to be nice. “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” he said emphatically. “I know it’s hard, all that… rigmarole. We all do. We’ve all been through it. But it’s worth it. The kind of work you do, with Healing charms and everything… You’re changing the world, you know.”

Kyle stood there a moment, stunned. “You really think that?”

Clint met his eyes, and his were earnest and piercing. “Yeah. I really think that.”

Kyle sighed, unsure of what to say and realizing he could finally see why everyone in the office liked Clint so much. As much as he hated to admit it, of course.

He was about to find some way to thank the guy for saying all that when Clint said, suddenly, before Kyle could even open his mouth, “Well, I should go. I’ll see you in the office on Monday.”

“Yeah, see you,” Kyle barely got out before the dark-skinned wizard turned on the spot and disappeared. “Well…” Kyle said into the quiet, empty alley. “Ok then.”

What an odd conversation. Kyle wasn’t sure what to make of it. He realized he didn’t have much else to do but Apparate home as well, and so he took out his wand, readying himself to do just that.

***

The next morning, Kyle sat cross-legged on the sofa, eating cereal and channel surfing on his small TV. He was actually feeling pretty content. He’d hardly had anything to drink the night before, and felt much better than he was imagining Hannah or Angelina was right then. And he was also... happy, able to look back on his time at the pub with a feeling of belonging, rather than the usual desire to cringe over the memory of something stupid or embarrassing he had inevitably done or said.

He hadn’t felt like that since his years back at Ilvermorny, with his small but loyal group of friends there. It was nice to feel that again.

An owl arrived halfway through some daytime talk show segment on teen pregnancy, and Kyle recognized it immediately as belonging to Lindsey. He untied the small roll of parchment and offered the owl the dregs of his cereal to eat as he read.

Lindsey hadn’t bothered to sign it, but she hadn’t needed to. He’d know her loopy handwriting anywhere.

_I’ve done something you might resent me for, but I hope you’ll keep an open mind. Apparate over this morning if you aren’t busy._

Kyle reread the note and sighed. It was annoyingly cryptic and not at all promising. He couldn’t think of what it was about, though, except that she was obviously about to push him into doing something “for his own good.” She was always doing things like that, and a lot of the time she was – very annoyingly – right.

Deciding to simply face the music, since Lindsey would inevitably show up in a few hours if she hadn’t heard from him, he went into his bedroom to change. He threw on a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt, and then fetched his wand from the bedside table.

_Let’s get this over with. _And he was having such a nice, quiet morning.

When he arrived in the front hall of his sister’s apartment, the place was silent. He stood there a moment, listening, before calling out.

“Lins? You here?”

“Upstairs!” Came her muffled reply. “Be down in a sec! Hold on.”

He waited, not-so-patiently, rolling back on his heels every now and then as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“Lins! Seriously!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Kyle huffed as she appeared on the stairs. “Very funny.”

She descended quickly, her feet tapping a quick rhythm on the wooden steps. “Come on, to the kitchen,” she said, when they were eye level. “I’m going to make some lunch. You hungry?”

“No, just ate. Lindsey, what was your note about?”

She turned to look back at him as they strode down the hallway, rolling her eyes. “Cutting to the chase, I see.” They entered the kitchen. “How was your night last night?”

Kyle gave her an annoyed look, but answered anyway. “Fine. It was fine.”

“Did you have fun at the pub?” She opened her fridge and started looking through it.

“Is this what you wanted to talk about?”

“I’m just asking.”

“Yeah. I had fun. I’m glad I went. You were right. Happy?”

“Yes, I am.” She straightened up, having pulled out the ingredients for a ham sandwich. “Are you going to ask me about the rest of my night?”

He watched her make a sandwich with increasing irritation. “How was the rest of your night, Lindsey?” he asked with mock sweetness.

She grinned at him. “Really good. That guy I was talking to? Lucas? He asked me out. I have a date with him this week.”

“Great.” Is that what Lindsey was worried about, that Kyle would resent her for having a date when his own love life wasn’t going well? It didn’t seem like her. “I’m happy for you.”

“It’s just going to be a casual thing, obviously,” she said. “Since I leave in a couple weeks.”

“Hey, you never know. He could be the love of your life.”

She took a bite of her sandwich and watched him as she chewed.

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?” Kyle pressed.

She shook her head, swallowed, and set her sandwich down, staring at her plate a moment. “I also talked to Draco for a bit, towards the end of the night,” she said, her voice a bit too casual.

“Oh.”

“We had a good talk, actually. He’s um… he’s a bit worried… Well, he asked about you.”

“Oh, Gods,” said Kyle, not liking where this was going, _at all_. If this was about Draco, then it was worse than he thought. “Please say you told him I was fine.”

“I said you were… doing ok, all things considered.”

“_Gods_.”

“But that it seemed like you were lacking closure.” Kyle stared at her. “And that maybe… you would like to talk to him, clear the air.”

“You didn’t.”

“He was open to the idea,” she went on, as though she hadn’t heard him. “He said he’d be willing to talk, let you get whatever you want off your chest.”

“I don’t want to talk to him. I never told you that I did.”

“You did tell me you felt like you didn’t have closure, though.”

“Yeah… but that doesn’t mean… This isn’t how I was planning to get it.”

“Then how were you planning to get it?”

“I don’t know… time. I mean, I’ll get over it eventually. Probably soon. Especially once he’s gone back to Hogwarts and I won’t have to read about him and Potter in the paper all the time.”

Her eyes crinkled in concern. “They’ll be back at Christmas. And for the summer. And you have mutual friends. Your paths might cross every now and then.”

“Which is fine,” Kyle insisted. “I’ll be over it by Christmas, obviously. We barely dated a month.”

She nodded slowly. “True. But, in a way, that’s exactly my point. You didn’t date that long, but you took the breakup really hard anyway. I think maybe because of the circumstances… I don’t know. I mean obviously I’m not trying to tell you how you feel or why, but I can’t help but think…” She bit her lip and looked at him sadly, sandwich forgotten. “You know, when you told me about the breakup it sounded like you didn’t end up saying much. It sounded like it happened really fast and you only got to… to express some of why it hurt you, why you were mad about it. It just seemed to me that you had more to say and I thought maybe I’d give you the chance to say it, to his face, before he leaves. This might be your only chance. I wanted to give you the option.”

Kyle exhaled slowly, thinking that over.

“If you don’t want to do it, it’s your choice. I can always owl Draco and tell him you’ve changed your mind. He would understand. But the option is there, if you want it.”

They stood in silence for a minute, and Lindsey eventually returned to her lunch as Kyle considered whether this was an opportunity he wanted to take. His insides burned with dread at the thought of seeing Draco again. The party had been bad enough, when they didn’t even have to interact. But a face to face? Could he handle that?

_You only dated a month_. As much as Kyle hated to admit it, he could see Lindsey’s point, about how hard he had taken the end of a relationship that hadn’t lasted very long at all. He knew why, really, or at least thought he did. It was because being with Draco was the first time since moving to London that he’d really felt wanted, that he’d considered that there were relationship possibilities for him beyond Evan. Something happy, fun, caring. Something to be excited about.

And it had ended so abruptly, so unexpectedly, all because it turned out that Draco was in love with someone else the whole time and just in denial about it. And that was… well, it was pretty shitty, frankly. It made Kyle feel used, and he was _really sick _of feeling like that.

_Why did you bother with me? _he wanted to ask Draco. _Was I just a rebound? Was that it? What was the point, anyway?_

And, though he wasn’t entirely sure he actually wanted to hear the answer to those questions, though he knew talking to Draco would be uncomfortable, even painful, maybe Lindsey was right. Maybe it was what he needed to move on, to get closure. This process was rarely ever comfortable, he knew that.

_Life begins at the edge of your comfort zone. _He hated the way his mother was always harping on him about that. He liked his comfort zone a lot, thank you very much. He didn’t like the feeling that he was being pushed out of it.

But it was his choice, and if he _chose _to do this, to make himself uncomfortable for an hour or two, it might be worth it. It might be just the thing he needed.

“Ok,” he said, meeting his sister’s eyes. “Ok. I’ll meet with him. But somewhere anonymous, just a random no-maj place, ok? I don’t want to run into anyone we know, and I definitely don’t want to end up in the papers.”

“That’s easily done,” Lindsey said. “I’ll arrange it all and let you know the time and place.” She gave him a tentative smile. “This is a good thing. This is the right thing. I’m proud of you.”

Kyle huffed and rolled his eyes, but ended up smiling nonetheless. “Thanks.”

He hoped she was right.

***

A week later, Kyle found himself sitting on his couch again, though this time he was far from content. Rather, he was replaying the conversation he’d just had with Draco and trying to sort through how he _felt _exactly.

Because, on the one hand, the conversation had been pretty revelatory, in a good way. He felt like he better understood everything that had happened between them and Draco’s thought process behind his actions. And, more importantly, Kyle felt like he understood _himself _better too. He wasn’t entirely sure how Draco had managed to help him with that, but he had.

Still, now that it was done and Kyle was back at his apartment, he had nothing but time and his own thoughts. And not all of them were pleasant. He was dwelling, not on Draco and Potter, but instead on his relationship with Evan, with history he had not examined in a long time.

Immediately following the breakup it had been so easy to focus on all of the problems he and Evan had had. The final six months, those they had spent living together, had remained fresh in his mind because those had been the worst, the hardest, proof positive that he and Evan were never going to work.

But his conversation with Draco had indirectly invited him to think about the beginning, which _had _been pretty great, in point of fact, full of fun nights out, personal jokes, really good sex, and earnest declarations of feelings. They’d had a good year, year and a half of that before it started to go downhill, by Kyle’s estimation, at least. He couldn’t be sure exactly when it had started to fall apart, when Kyle had started to feel like he wasn’t enough and would never be, when Evan had started playing on those insecurities and become manipulative. All he knew was that he could look back on the first year with some real fondness, even smile or a laugh at a particularly good memory, and feel no pain. But getting into the second year, it was a different story.

It was little things at first: jibes Evan would make to him that would have been nothing on their own, but that amounted to something potentially destructive. There were the days that Kyle would feel defensive and moody, overly sensitive to anything Evan said to him. There were the nights when they’d both had a bit too much to drink and end up in a fight over nothing, over things no sane person would fight about, heated debates that sometimes ended in tears and one of them storming out, or, more often, rough, angry sex. Kyle remembered that very clearly, despite the fact that it was often alcohol induced. It wasn’t like the sex they had usually. He’d always felt so hollow after, so alone. And he hadn’t even realized what that feeling was, until now.

Not _all _of their fights were about nothing, of course. Some of them were life-altering, major turning points in their relationship. For worse, often, but sometimes for better, at least in the short term. One in particular, that took place around the two-year mark, was coming back to Kyle with full force.

They’d been out with friends. Or, Evan’s friends, specifically. They had plenty of mutual ones too but there was a group of especially pretentious, artsy acquaintances that Evan knew from school and liked to see on occasion. Kyle never felt he’d fit with them, mostly because they ignored him for the most part. Anything he ever tried to contribute to the conversation was dismissed, and Evan always just let it happen. There were times when Evan was planning to see them that Kyle would refuse to go with him, which always pissed Evan off. Accusations would be thrown around about “not making enough of an effort,” which Kyle resented heavily.

He made plenty of a fucking effort, and Evan knew it.

That night, he had simply wanted to avoid a fight, irony of ironies. That had been the goal. He agreed to go out with the group, have a few drinks, and be content to be ignored. Just stay quiet, that was all he had to do.

But then one of them mentioned a Gauguin exhibit that was coming to the AGO in a few months, and Kyle, confused and more than a little beer-fuddled, had said, without thinking, “But I thought he was an architect.”

The entire table had stared at him, faces twisted in confusion, and with a few exchanging knowing looks, as if ready for Kyle to make a fool of himself.

Kyle felt his cheeks go red, immediately regretting opening his big mouth. But he was in it now, and he thought he knew what he was talking about. “Didn’t he design that really famous cathedral in Barcelona?”

“Are you talking about Gaudi?” one of them asked with the cock of an eyebrow.

_Gaudi_. Kyle thought that over, realizing that sounded right. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

The table burst into laughter, including Evan, and Kyle sat back, wishing he could just shrivel up into nothing.

“You don’t know the difference between Gauguin and Gaudi?” another one of them said, giggling all the while. “Jesus. Read a fucking book or something.”

They all laughed some more, and Kyle sipped on his beer, deciding he really wasn’t going to speak another word for the rest of the night. And he didn’t, not when they’d moved on to other topics, not when Evan had leaned into him and asked if he wanted another beer, liquor heavy on his breath. He just shut down, imagining he was anywhere but there.

Evan was upset when they got back to Kyle’s apartment.

“You were really rude tonight, you know,” he said. “I mean, I know you don’t follow art and literature the way they do, but you could have at least pretended like you were listening. You didn’t even say goodbye to them when we left.”

Kyle remembered unwinding his scarf from around his neck, staring at the back of the chair that he tossed it onto. He remembered how tight his throat felt at that moment, how his eyes were swimming, the humiliation, the anger, and the blatant injustice of Evan’s accusation threatening to consume him.

It was so unfair. Evan always took their side, never seeming willing to see it from Kyle’s perspective. Like he cared more about them than he did about Kyle. He was so angry he didn’t have words. He didn’t want to look at Evan, hear him, touch him, anything. He wanted Evan to just go away and leave him alone.

“Kyle?” Evan asked from behind him. “Are you just going to ignore me, like you ignored them all night?”

Kyle clenched his jaw, swallowed, and found the words.

“This is so utterly fucked.”

There was silence at his back for at least ten seconds. Then, finally, Evan answered. “What?”

Kyle steeled himself and turned. “This. Tonight. Everything. The way you treated me. It was so fucked up, Evan. And now you’re standing there accusing me of being rude, which is just _so _fucking… I mean, where do I even start?”

Evan stared at his face, taking him in. “Are you crying?” he asked, incredulous.

Kyle dashed a hand across both cheeks quickly, wiping away the couple of tears that had spilled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I am. Because I feel like shit. And it’s because of you, and your stupid, fucking, horrible friends. I always feel like shit when I’m with them, and you know that, and you make me go anyway. And then you stand there and say I’m rude because I don’t talk to them? _They _don’t talk to me! _They _are fucking rude every fucking second of every fucking day and I do my best to put up with it for _you_.”

Evan scoffed. “That is so way out of… Just because they’re not _your _kind of people or whatever… I mean, you’re so goddamn picky-“

“They’re _assholes_, Evan!” Kyle interrupted, taking a step forward until he was only inches from Evan’s livid face. “They’re mean, arrogant, phony assholes who don’t give a shit about anyone and just sit around entertaining themselves by putting other people down to make themselves feel smarter. They’re a bunch of dicks, and I _hate _them. And I hate who you are with them.”

Evan’s eyes widened in shock and confusion, and Kyle wondered for a moment if he really didn’t get it, if he really was that incapable of seeing outside of himself.

“You laughed at me,” he said, his voice cracking. “I had a brief memory lapse and confused Gauguin with Gaudi, and instead of just correcting me and explaining the difference like civilized fucking people would, they laughed at me and told me to read a fucking book, and _you _laughed with them. You didn’t defend me or-“

“_That’s _what this is about? The Gauguin thing? Seriously? That was so, like, not a big deal,” Evan said.

“It was a big deal to me,” said Kyle, unwilling to let Evan brush this aside like he did all the other slights those friends had lobbied at him. “And I think you know that. You have to know that they’re doing it on purpose. You’re not really that fucking naïve, are you, that you don’t know what they think of me? If they’re willing to be like that to my face I can only imagine what they say about me behind my back.” Evan’s face was stoic, and Kyle took that to mean he was right. “And you probably never defend me, do you? Doesn’t matter if I’m there or not. They can say whatever shit they want about me-“

“They don’t talk about you that much-“

“-and you never say a fucking _word _on my behalf.” His eyes bored into Evan’s, realizing a truth he’d never wanted to acknowledge before. “Because a part of you thinks they’re right, right?” Another tear slipped down his cheek, and he ignored it. “There’s a part of you that wishes I was more like them, that wishes I could just find some way to fit in. You care more about how I look to them than about how I feel when I’m with them. And that… that is utterly fucked, Evan. That is just so…” He shook his head. “That is just so utterly fucked. And it makes me think, you know… it makes me think that maybe we… maybe you and I are just…”

“What?” Evan asked, his voice a whisper. For the first time that night, he actually looked afraid, like maybe it was time to start taking this seriously. “Just what?”

“I don’t know,” Kyle replied, knowing that if he said what he was thinking, it could very well be the end. And a part of him, most of him, really, was terrified of that. “Sometimes I just… wonder… if maybe… if maybe I’m not what you want. It just seems like you’d rather have someone who likes all the stuff you like and who gets along with all of your friends. It seems like you don’t even want me.”

“That’s not true,” Evan said immediately. “I _never _said that. Don’t put fucking words in my mouth, Kyle.”

“I know you never said it, but it’s how you act,” Kyle accused.

“That’s _not true_,” Evan insisted, like that would be enough to make the gnawing in Kyle’s heart go away.

“Well, it’s how I feel right now.” Kyle turned away then, more defeated than anything. It didn’t matter what Evan kept insisting. It was just further proof that he _didn’t get it_, and Kyle didn’t know how to make him see. “I feel like shit, and I don’t want to have this fucking argument. You’re not even listening to me.”

“I am listening,” Evan answered, in that same voice that was so sure, but at the same time, so desperate. “I’m listening to what you’re saying, Kyle. But I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Kyle turned back. “Act like you love me. Act like you love _me_. Act like you care about _me _and how I feel instead of how they feel. Think about me for once. Put me first.”

Evan took a step forward, his brown eyes sparking in a way Kyle recognized. “I _do _love you-“ he began, his arms already reaching. But Kyle stopped him with the raise of a hand.

“Not like that. Not with sex. I am so not in the mood right now, you don’t even know.”

Evan stopped in his tracks, looking genuinely stymied, and Kyle remembered taking some satisfaction from that.

_That’s right_, he thought at that moment, watching the other man trying to sort out how to handle this. _What do you do when sex is off the table? What do you do when you have to actually use words?_

Evan took a step back, ducked his head, and was silent for at least a minute. When he looked up again, his eyes were wet, much to Kyle’s shock. He rarely saw Evan cry.

“I’m sorry,” Evan said hoarsely. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I’m sorry.”

Though Evan’s rare show of emotion was tugging at Kyle’s heart, he couldn’t fully accept what sounded like another excuse. “I think I’ve made it pretty clear in the past. And I think if you were paying attention to me and how I was feeling, instead of just your friends and how they were feeling, you would know all of this already.”

Evan’s jaw tightened as he looked at the floor, but Kyle didn’t think it was in anger. Maybe shame, which softened Kyle further.

“Ok,” Evan said, nodding. “Yeah, ok. I hear you.” He sniffed and swiped at his nose. “I’ll do better. I’ll _be _better. I promise.” He looked at Kyle then, eyes still glistening, and Kyle could already feel himself giving in.

“Thank you.”

“I do love you, you know. I love you.” Evan’s voice cracked. “And I know I’m not good at this. I know I’m fucked up, but… I really am trying. And I’ll try harder. Just don’t…” His eyes were big and brown as they met Kyle’s, as tears spilled over. “Just don’t leave me, please. Just stick with me, and I’ll get better at it. I promise I will.”

Wiping away tears of his own, Kyle opened his arms and Evan went immediately into them, burying his face against Kyle’s collarbone.

“Please don’t leave me,” Evan said again. Though the words were muffled, Kyle understood them. “I don’t know what I would do if you left me.”

“I’m not leaving,” Kyle assured him, kissing him on the side of the head. “I love you too.”

There, on the couch, in present day, Kyle found himself crying silently at the memory. How could he have forgotten that? It was such an important fight, not because it was bigger or louder than the rest – because it wasn’t – but because it was a turning point, an argument that led to things actually getting better, at least for a while. Evan no longer made Kyle go out with that group of friends. He made an effort to find activities they both enjoyed, spend more social times with friends they shared. He was more demonstrative in his affection. And it all made Kyle feel like things really would be all right.

He got complacent after that. It wasn’t how he saw it at the time, but he knew it now. He was lulled into a false sense of security, enough that when Evan suggested they move in together, it felt like the right thing. Things weren’t perfect, but they were good. He had no way of knowing at the time that it would all go downhill from there.

Kyle couldn’t be sure, but he suspected that there was something about their moving in together that made Evan feel like he had license to start acting like his old self again. It was little things, really, subtle insults, backhanded compliments, dogging him in front of their friends in a way that _almost _seemed like a joke, but not enough to make Kyle feel all right with it. Every time Kyle called him out, Evan would find some way to make up for it, would promise he wouldn’t do it again, would be sweet for a little while before the whole thing would start back up. That constant push-pull of Evan’s bouts of cruelty followed by promises of love became the reality of Kyle’s life. Though he couldn’t admit it at the time, he could now see that the career change and the considerations of living internationally were his way of finding an escape, a permanent exit that wouldn’t have Evan finding some way to reel him back in again.

Evan knew it though. He was so angry, when Kyle first mentioned wanting to leave his job, maybe move out of Toronto in search of other opportunities. Though Kyle had told Evan to come along, or offered long-distance as a temporary option, he could see now that those offers were made half-heartedly at best. Deep down, he’d been trying to find a way to leave, and Evan saw through the pretense. That was why Evan was so upset, why he had acted the way he did in those final months.

_I don’t know what I would do if you left me._

Draco was right. Evan had been hurt, and that was why he was practically pushing Kyle away by the end. Because Kyle was going to leave anyway. He was going to do the thing he told Evan he wouldn’t do.

Kyle hadn’t explicitly _promised _him he would never leave. He’d never used those words, probably intentionally. Because some part of him knew he would always have to leave. It hurt too much, the grip Evan had on him. He had to figure out a way to extricate himself.

He could never regret his decision to leave. He was very glad to no longer be stuck in that horrible cycle with Evan. But, for the first time since the breakup, he did feel some remorse, at least for the way it had all been handled, for his part in the pain of their breakup. Evan wasn’t a good partner, but mostly because he wasn’t ready to be. There was so much from his past he hadn’t dealt with – wasn’t willing to deal with – and so much he was afraid of. Being left behind was one of the things that terrified him the most, and Kyle did it to him anyway. There was a tragic irony in all of it that Kyle felt acutely now, in a way he had scarcely allowed himself to feel before.

Time was passing, but Kyle hardly noticed. Afternoon gave way to evening, the light outside his window the only indication. Kyle mostly sat and thought, occasionally getting up to wander the house, thinking and thinking. He cried more than once as various memories overtook him, some happy, many sad, and most a bittersweet mix of the two.

He was lounging on his sofa, just thinking about how he should probably eat something (he hadn’t put anything in his stomach since the coffee with Draco many hours ago), when the pop of apparition startled him from his thoughts. His sister had appeared by his front door, and she was looking right at him, a mixture of concern and annoyance pinching her features.

“You were supposed to owl me,” she said.

Kyle sat up. “I forgot.”

“Yeah, I figured that.” She looked around the room. “It’s so dark in here.”

She was right. The only light that was on was the fairly dim one over the stove. She flicked a switch, and the living room was suddenly illuminated.

“How long have you been sitting here?” she asked.

“A while,” he said. “Just thinking.”

“Did the coffee not go well? You look like you’ve been crying.”

“No, the coffee was fine,” Kyle said honestly. “I mean, it was uncomfortable, like I thought it would be. But Draco was nice. We talked for a long time. He helped me, I think.”

Lindsey came to sit next to him on the sofa. “So why do you look so sad?”

“Just thinking about Evan,” Kyle said.

“Oh, Gods,” said Lindsey, putting a hand over her face. “That wasn’t the point of this, you know. To get you over Draco just to bring you back to Evan. The point was to move _on_.”

“I am moving on,” Kyle said. “I’m not _back _to Evan, Lins. I was always there, I just didn’t know it. I’m working through my shit, that’s all.”

“You’ve been working through your shit for months,” she said impatiently. “Isn’t it time to let go, to start thinking about the future?”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Kyle asked her, feeling a sharp spike of defensiveness. “It’s not as simple as just, ‘Ok, over Evan now. Time to move on.’ I’ve got some processing to do. That takes time.”

Lindsey sighed, and they were silent for a bit. “I was going to see if you wanted to grab dinner,” she said. “Have you eaten?”

“Not since breakfast,” Kyle admitted.

To his surprise, Lindsey threw up her hands in obvious frustration. “Well, that’s just great. My brother can’t even feed himself.”

Kyle just stared at her for a second. “That was pretty mean. I’m going through a fucking crisis here.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been going through a crisis for a hell of a long time, it seems to me. It seems to me like you _like _being in crisis more than you like being happy.”

Kyle gaped at her. “That is total bullshit. You think I don’t want to be happy? You think me moving here and finally getting out of that fucked up relationship wasn’t about trying to be happy? You think getting together with Draco and trying out a new relationship wasn’t an attempt at being happy? Because I’m _trying _here, Lindsey. I’m trying really fucking hard. And not a lot of it is working out for me, and so now I’m trying to figure out what went wrong, to see if I can find a way to _be _happy. I’m fucking working on it. But you coming here and yelling at me-“

“I’m not yelling,” Lindsey said, huffing.

“Whatever. I really don’t need a lecture right now. So if that’s why you’re here, you can leave.”

She looked at him, clearly hurt, but she didn’t move, except to cross her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I swear this isn’t about a lecture. But all this moping is really starting to worry me. It’s not healthy.”

“Because you’re a mental health professional, and can clearly make that call,” Kyle said, aware that there was a thread of venom in his voice.

“Maybe you need a mental health professional.”

“Maybe I do,” Kyle said, mostly just to shock her. He wasn’t actually sure if that was true. Maybe, if he really couldn’t get this sorted out on his own, he would find someone to talk to. “It’s something worth thinking about. But I’ll make that call for myself.”

She huffed again, and Kyle had a feeling he knew what that meant.

“You don’t trust me,” he said. “You don’t trust me to make the call that’s right for me.”

She looked at him soberly. “I want to.”

“Then do it. I can’t _make _you. You have to decide to. You have to decide that I’m capable of taking care of myself instead of always trying to swoop in and make it all better. Believe it or not, that doesn’t actually help me.”

She swallowed. “I just want you to be happy,” she said. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I’m leaving soon, and sometimes I worry that I’m leaving you in worse shape than when I came here.”

“You’re not,” Kyle said. “Because I was in denial about a lot of things. I was glossing over the… the damage, for lack of a better word, that Evan did to my self-esteem. I wouldn’t let myself see it before, so I had no way to work through it. But Draco helped me see it today. He told me stories from his own life, he helped me understand just how… how hard I am on myself. How horrible I am to myself.” To his amazement, tears were welling up once more. He thought he’d already cried himself dry, but apparently not. “It’s hard to face, but he’s right. So I need to sort through that, come to terms with it. And I need more than an afternoon. So excuse me if you’re catching me at a difficult time in my life, but that’s just the way it goes.”

Lindsey was quiet again, but she no longer looked angry or hurt, and that was something, at least. “I never thought about it that way.”

“Yeah, well, self-esteem has never been your issue,” he said, and when she gaped at him he was quick to explain himself. “I mean it as a good thing, obviously. We all have our issues, but you’ve always been confident. And that’s great. That’s great for you. But I’ve never really felt that before. I’ve never been sure of myself in anything, and especially not in my relationships. And I want to figure out why that is and how I can be better about that. I really _want _to, I promise. But I need time. And I need… I need for it to be ok with you that I’m not always happy. I need it to be ok with you that I’m a work in progress and that my life won’t magically be happy and perfect by the time you leave London. Because that isn’t going to happen. You’ve got to have some faith in me that things will keep getting better after you leave.”

Lindsey reached out for his hand, and he let her take it, feeling the tight grip and seeing a kind of fierce love come into her eyes, all of a sudden. “You’re right,” she said. “We’re all just a work in progress, aren’t we?”

Kyle squeezed her hand in appreciation, letting a soft smile curl at his lips. “Yeah,” he said. “Exactly.”

***

Kyle knew that his talks with both Draco and Lindsey were important ones, and he was grateful for both of them. They had been what he needed to get some clarity and start moving forward. Still, by the end of the weekend he was feeling completely wrung out and not at all ready to resume work on Monday. He considered calling in sick, giving himself a mental health day, but decided against it in the end. Another day lying around his apartment wasn’t going to do him any good. Better to be around other people, people he liked, and try to be productive.

He came into the office that morning feeling both bone-tired and raw. Not even Angelina’s bright smile or fond reminiscing about the most recent pub night could lift his energy, and he sat down behind his desk with nothing but dread at the arduous tasks ahead of him. Another day of paperwork. Oh joy.

The first couple of hours didn’t prove to be very productive, despite his intentions, and Angelina’s distracting chatter, while usually welcome, only served to grate on him. He was starting to develop a headache. Pinching the bridge of his nose did only a little to help, but it was something.

Maybe there was a mild pain potion around somewhere, he wondered. There were various potions and ointments stored in the lab, in case of experiments gone wrong. It might be worth heading down there and digging around for something.

He was about to ask Angelina her thoughts when there was a knock at the door, and Clint Monarch opened it without any prompting.

“Morning,” he said to the two of them.

“Morning,” Angelina greeted him cheerfully. “What are you up to?”

“Just came to ask Kyle a couple of questions,” Clint replied, and then just walked right in. He didn’t even ask. Kyle looked up at him, blinking. “I’ve run tests on all the charms you suggested,” he began excitedly, making his way to Kyle’s desk, standing over him so Kyle had to crane his neck. “And I think I’ve had a breakthrough. Wearable charms have been common for a long time now, but it’s mostly been in jewelry, right? Because metals and minerals are so easy to imbue. But what about textiles? Most manufacturers don’t bother with that because the challenge of…”

Kyle rubbed a hand over his face, unable to hear anymore of Clint’s animated monologue. Each word felt like a hammer to his skull, and the presumptiveness of Clint’s attitude that Kyle was just there for the asking, that he was in any kind of mood to listen to someone else wax victorious while he had so much of his own shit to deal with… Well, frankly, it sent something bubbling up in him, an acidic resentment and a burning frustration in the inner lining of his throat. And that only added to the painful pulsing behind his eyes.

“…and I was just wondering what you think the next step is.” Clint was still talking, and Kyle looked up at him, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Do you think I should-“

“Has it ever occurred to you,” Kyle said, talking over him and making Clint falter, “that I have enough of my own work to do, and I don’t have time to help you with yours?” His words came out harsh and venomous, and tasted sharp on his tongue, but, in a twisted way, it almost felt good. Even the shocked look on Clint’s face felt a little good. “I mean really, you barge in here without even asking if I’m free and you start talking at me about some new great idea that _you _have, like I’m expected to care. Like I’m expected to just drop everything and help _you. _Well, I don’t have the time, and I am not in the mood. So just figure it out yourself, ok?”

Clint stood blinking at him a moment, before his eyes dropped, shoulders slumping. Kyle saw his throat bob as he swallowed, and one of his large hands came to scratch at the back of his head. He suddenly, despite his large size, seemed to look very small, like a nervous boy instead of a grown man, and Kyle felt the first stirrings of regret underneath the burning acid still churning beneath his sternum.

“Sorry,” Clint said, and it came out a soft rasp. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’ll just…” He turned away, leaving quickly and without another word.

Kyle put a hand over his eyes again, shielding himself from the outside world and that unpleasant interaction. He shouldn’t have been so harsh, and he already knew that. But then, he was also so tired, and he hardly had the resources at the moment to drum up some diplomacy. And he just needed the man to _leave him alone _for once.

Still, he had been really harsh. Too harsh. _Shit_.

He dropped his hand and opened his eyes, only to find Angelina staring at him from behind her desk. The disappointment he saw plainly in her features caused a different kind of burning to flare up behind his eyes. This was not born of anger, but of shame, of the realization that only had he been a complete asshole to the department’s resident “nice guy,” who hardly deserved that kind of treatment, but also that someone Kyle liked and respected as much as Angelina had witnessed it.

The burn became a sting, and Kyle felt moisture start to pool.

_Gods, _because this was obviously what he needed right now. To start crying at work. That was just perfect. That was just the icing on the fucking cake.

He stood up, not sparing another glance for Angelina, and rushed out of the office. He walked quickly down the hall, making a beeline for the bathroom and the solitude he hoped to find there.

He shouldn’t have bothered to come into work. That much was clear. People either wanted him to solve all their problems or they didn’t want him around at all, and it was just too much right now. He wiped at his eyes and pushed open the bathroom door.

It was empty, mercifully, and Kyle breathed a sigh of relief as he went into one of the stalls, sat down on the toilet, and put his head in his hands.

He was just so sick of this, of feeling this way. Of feeling hurt and angry, feeling rejected, feeling like he didn’t fit, like he was always fucking up. He was sick of being the person that shitty things happened to, that had such a hard time finding the good in all of it. He was sick of being in the middle of this ridiculous life crisis and feeling like it was all he thought about and all anyone seemed to know about him.

He wanted something different. He wanted his life to be about something other than being mistreated by Evan or being dumped by Draco. He wanted it to be defined by something else. _He _wanted to be defined by something else. Something good. Something he had control over, something he chose.

He sighed heavily, letting all the tension leave his shoulders, letting his breath smooth out and his tears naturally wane. He sat and breathed, and after a minute of that a sense of calm came over him, a heaviness that was more a comfort than a burden, like gravity, anchoring him there where he sat.

Because he _had _a choice, didn’t he? That was, in essence, what his conversation with Draco over the weekend had been about: choice. Draco had asked him why he chose to believe that Evan had never loved him, and Kyle’s response at the time had been purely second nature, because he’d seen it one way for so long that it felt like the truth. Evan had never liked him, and that was why he pushed Kyle away, told him to leave.

But Kyle had already taken the time to look at the relationship through a new lens, and he could see now that it was much more complicated than that, that Evan’s behavior had been more about Evan than it had ever been about Kyle. That Kyle had done the best he could, but it hadn’t been enough because it was never going to be. He would never have been able to fix Evan or their relationship, and he only would have become more miserable trying. So he’d done what he had to do to free himself, to free both of them, even. They were no good together; it had to end.

Seeing things that way was a choice, he could understand that now. That was what Draco had been trying to tell him. He could choose to see his past relationship that way, because it helped him move on and it helped him know what he would do differently in the future. And if that helped him, then why not?

And if he could choose to see his breakup with Evan that way, then he could also choose to see his breakup with Draco in a different way, in a way that helped him.

He could choose to see himself in a different way too.

Standing up, he unlocked the stall door and made his way to the sinks. He placed his hands palm down on the counter and leaned into it, meeting his reflection in the mirror.

What did he see?

At the moment, a too-thin, sleep-deprived man with a gaunt face and red-rimmed eyes. He saw remorse, guilt, frustration, and exhaustion. And none of these things were very encouraging. But he made himself keep staring, and he asked himself, what would Draco choose to see if he were here? What would Draco point out to him that Kyle had never noticed before?

The first thing that popped into his head, strangely, was not the presence of something, but rather the absence of something: fear. He could not find fear in his own eyes, or in the set of his jaw, or in his posture as he leaned towards himself over the sink. And this was unexpected, because he’d considered himself someone who found a way to be at least a little afraid of just about everything. And certainly, most of all, self-examination. But he didn’t see any now, only curiosity, and maybe the beginnings of resolve, and he wondered why that was.

Maybe on top of being sick of everything he else, he was also sick of fear. Now _that _would be a change he could really embrace.

The bathroom door opened, and Kyle changed his stance abruptly, standing upright and turning his head towards the unwitting intruder.

It was Clint (of _course _it was), looking a little worse for wear himself, making Kyle’s remorse and guilt return with full force. The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, both wide-eyed, both (Kyle guessed) trying to figure out what to say. Kyle was rapidly composing an apology in his head, but Clint spoke first.

“Are you all right?”

Kyle let out a surprised breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “I’ve been better, actually.” He looked at Clint, seeing that his expression had softened. “Look, Clint, I-“

“I owe you an apology,” Clint said quickly, as if he didn’t want Kyle to be the one to say sorry first.

“What?” Kyle answered, his eyes widening further. “No, trust me, you don’t-“

“I do, though,” Clint said, sounding genuinely contrite. “Because you were right. I came barging in, expecting your help without even asking, without even noticing that you’re obviously tired and upset and…” He sighed. “I should have been paying better attention. And for that, I’m very sorry. You help me all the time. You _always _help me, whenever I ask, and I took that for granted. I won’t again, I promise.”

“I don’t want you to feel like helping you is some big burden I have to bear,” Kyle said. “It’s not like that. The work you do is interesting, and I like talking about it.” He realized, as he said it, that this was true. He did always end up enjoying his conversations with Clint. The resentment he had felt towards the man was, in reality, more a product of Kyle’s insecurities than anything Clint had done. That was the real truth of it, much to his chagrin. “My reaction today was totally because of my own shit, and not because of something you did.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Clint said. “I don’t blame you.”

“Please, don’t excuse-“

“No, listen,” Clint said, stepping forward. “Because I realized something else, after I went back to my office and thought about what you said. I realized that not only do you always help me, but I also never help _you_. I’ve never even _offered_. And that’s so… self-absorbed.” He shook his head, as though he was the one who should feel shame and guilt, not Kyle. “I think I assumed that if you wanted my help, you would ask for it. That knowing that I came to you regularly meant that you would know you could always come to _me_. But that’s quite an assumption. An unfair one, in fact. I should have told you… I should have made it clear that if you ever needed something from me, I would happily give it.”

Kyle was completely floored, and honestly had no idea how to react to that. Because everything Clint was describing was not at all how Kyle saw the situation.

And yet Clint saw it that way. He felt _he _was the one who had been in the wrong. How strange.

“I appreciate that,” Kyle said, because he knew Clint was waiting for an answer, his brown eyes about as wide and shimmery as a sad puppy. “I really do. But I also never should have talked to you that way. I was out of line. It was… It was mean, and I’m sorry. I hope you know that I didn’t mean it.”

Clint bowed his head, nodding slightly. “Thanks,” he said, his voice holding even more than its usual softness. “And I hope you know that I did mean what I said. If you ever need help, all you have to do is ask.”

“Thanks. If I can ever get through these approvals and find a way back into research, I’ll take you up on that.”

“Good,” Clint replied. “But I’m not just talking about work. I’m talking about…” He trailed off for a second and, to Kyle’s surprise, put a hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “I’m talking about… anything, I guess. I guess I just… I just wanted you to know I’m here, that’s all.” He looked at Kyle directly, projecting sincerity, though he also seemed a little self-conscious about it. Kyle wondered if Clint was talking about feelings a bit more than he was really used to. He appreciated the gesture, that the other man was willing to make himself a bit uncomfortable, if it would get his point across.

“Thanks, Clint,” he said. “You’re a great person, you know.” He said it as much for himself as he did for the other wizard, because it was something worth remembering. “A better man than I am.”

“No,” Clint said, his hand tightening just a bit on Kyle’s shoulder. “Don’t say that, please. You don’t give yourself enough credit. You don’t realize how… how glad we are that you’re here. And how much you do for us. I wish you could realize that. I really do.”

There were unexpected echoes of his weekend, of his conversation with Draco, in that statement, and it made Kyle wonder.

_You don’t see yourself very clearly, _Draco had said. It was seeming more and more like maybe he was right.

He thanked Clint again and then, because even _he _was hitting his threshold for talking about feelings, he took his leave, making his way back to his office. He was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t realize he was passing both Rico and Hannah in the hallway. But an exciting calling of his name got his attention.

“Hey,” he greeted them, hoping he didn’t still look like he’d been crying.

If he did, neither of them commented on it. Instead, they invited him to lunch.

“We’re getting a whole group together,” Rico said. “For the Leaky. Pints and food. You in?”

“We’ve all had shitty weekends,” Hannah added, by way of explanation. “Rico spent all of Saturday night getting turned down by witches for a shag and I had a _terrible _first date with that bloke from the Goblin Liaison office. I think we could all use a pick-me-up, don’t you?”

“So it’s Liquid Lunch Monday!” Rico declared. “Which I think should always be a thing. We should make it a thing,” he remarked as an aside to Hannah.

Hannah patted his arm and said, “Today will be a start, at least.” She turned back to Kyle, her eyes wide and pleading. “You’ll come, won’t you? I _need _to tell you about this date I had. You’re the only one around here who understands my plight!”

Then both looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah,” Kyle said. “Sure. I’m in.”

“Great!” Rico grinned. “Meet in the atrium in half an hour.”

They both waved goodbye to him and made their way down the hall, while Kyle walked in the other direction, feeling marginally better than before. Still, there was a small weight of dread in his stomach at the thought of facing Angelina and her judgment of how he had treated Clint. Though Kyle and the other wizard had cleared the air already, he wasn’t sure he was entirely prepared for that onslaught.

Weirdly, though, when he entered the office Angelina merely looked at him with a tilted head and asked if he was feeling better. Kyle stood there a moment, staring at her before finally answering that yes, he was. He waited, sure there was more, that he was about to get a good verbal lashing.

But instead, Angelina nodded and said, “Good. Hannah and Rico have invited us for a lunch outing at the Leaky. I told them I would ask you.”

“Oh, um, yeah. I ran into them in the hallway.”

“Ah, well, there you are then,” she said. “Normally I would have said yes on your behalf anyway, and just dragged you there myself if you were being difficult about it.” She gave him a wry smirk that he couldn’t help but return. “But with everything that just… well, I know they’re going to invite Clint as well and I wasn’t sure-“

“I already spoke to him,” Kyle interrupted her. “And apologized, obviously. And he also apologized to _me_, which was totally unnecessary. But he seemed insistent on doing it anyway, so…”

“That’s Clint for you,” Angelina said simply.

“Yeah.” Kyle was starting to realize how very true that was. “Anyway, we had a good talk. We’re good.”

She nodded at him. “Glad to hear it.” Her face softened. “And you’re really all right?”

“Yeah,” Kyle answered, feeling sheepish. “I just had a… rough weekend is all. Intense. I want to tell you all about it at some point, but not right now. Or I’ll start crying again.” He hoped she heard the thread of humor in his words.

He wasn’t sure, because her expression softened even more and she stood up from her desk, came over to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug. She was considerably shorter than him, and her head came to naturally rest against his chest.

Surprised, but also pleased, he put his arms around her in return. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “And when you’re ready for the rest, I’ll be ready to listen.”

Kyle felt a swelling of gratitude in him, and it lightened all the heaviness that had still been lingering under his breastbone. Gratitude for Angelina yes, but also for Clint, and for Hannah, and even Rico.

“You all are so nice to me,” he found himself saying, resting his cheek on the top of Angelina’s head. “Even when I act like a dick or am being annoying and sad. You’re still so nice.”

Angelina’s arms tightened just a fraction around him. “Idiot,” she said. “It’s because we love you.”

***

“Choice” became the new theme of Kyle’s life for the next few weeks. He made a commitment to be kinder to and more accepting of himself. He made more of an effort with his colleagues, realizing he had been resisting friendships with some of them more out of fear of rejection than dislike. He worked on forgiving Evan and letting go of the pain their relationship had caused him.

It was all easier said than done, and he knew that. So in addition to all of that he made the choice to schedule an appointment with a Mind Healer, and he made the choice to show up on time and be as open-minded as he could about what she had to say.

She didn’t say much, though, mostly just let him talk, asking the occasional question and nodding and humming and saying things like, “That’s an important insight,” and “Tell me more about that.”

Kyle found it helpful and decided to go for a few more sessions, though he wasn’t sure if it needed to be something long term. He already felt better. He felt more empowered and sure and capable than he ever had in his life. He believed, purely, for the first time ever, that things would actually work out.

Lindsey could see the change in him as surely as he could feel it in himself, and she told him so, the very day she was leaving for Toronto.

“I’m glad we had this time together,” she said.

“Me too,” he said, returning her embrace.

“I’m proud of you.” Her voice was shaky as she clutched at him. “I love you.”

Kyle returned the sentiments, promised they’d see each other at Christmas, and sent her on her way.

It was the right time for her to go, and it was for the best, really. Kyle couldn’t help but feel he’d be better served going it alone for a little while. He needed some time, without his sister, without a boyfriend, without a crutch. It was what he wanted. He even believed it would feel good.

Still, Lindsey’s leaving left him a little despondent for a few days, and he was already noticing how easy for him to slip into the habit of complaining about it, deciding it meant everything would be hard, that he was destined to be sad. The difference was, this time he wasn’t interested in indulging in that. Rather, he started thinking about what he could do to make work more enjoyable for himself. He had been stuck in a rut for a while, and he knew it.

So, for the first time ever, he went to visit Clint in his office.

The two men had been cordial yet cautious around each other since what Kyle was calling “the bathroom incident.” Kyle made more of an effort to be kind, to talk to Clint at pub nights, and be helpful whenever possible. The thing was, though, that Clint hadn’t come to his office for a chat since that day. He appeared to be trying to be sensitive to how much help he’d already asked for from Kyle in the past, and was avoiding overloading him. Kyle didn’t know how to go about telling him it wasn’t necessary. The whole thing still felt so awkward to him.

But maybe it was time for an olive branch, even if things did get a little awkward in the process.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked the chocolate-skinned wizard, after he’d knocked and Clint’s deep voice had invited him in.

Clint blinked at him a couple of times, rearranged a few papers on his desk without looking at them, and said, finally, “Of course. Have a seat.”

Kyle smiled, feeling the strangeness of a role reversal and deja vu simultaneously.

“Thanks,” he said, doing as Clint instructed. “I was hoping for some advice, actually.”

Clint smiled back at him, obviously pleased, and Kyle felt his insides warm a little. It was always nice to do something that so obviously made another person happy, and Clint was starting to become a person in his life that he really wanted to see happy. The man deserved it, certainly.

“Happy to help,” he said.

Kyle decided to launch right into it. Clint knew much of the context already: how much time Kyle was spending on paperwork these days, how much he missed the lab and being hands-on with his projects.

“You suggested I should start something new, even if it didn’t go anywhere,” he said. “And that stuck with me, you know? I’d really like to think of a new project. But all of my ideas are just… too small, or they’re not…” He trailed off, trying to think of the right word. “They’re incomplete, I guess. I need to flesh them out. And you seem really good at that.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been thinking so far?”

Kyle did, going item by item down his (very short) list, and they spent the next half hour discussing them all in depth. Kyle found himself leaning forward with his elbows over the desk, thirsty for new insights. Clint was, it turned out, pretty insightful. He had a way of seeing the big picture and the important details at the same time; he could pinpoint where the gaps were, the potential pitfalls, the crux of a problem. It was very useful, although, in this case, it served to eliminate every one of Kyle’s ideas, because they all needed more development before he could start on a protocol. He had more work to do before he could get back in the lab, it seemed.

“Which one do you think is my best option?” he asked the other man. “I don’t mind doing more work but, if I’m going to, I want it to be worth something.”

Clint chewed on his lip a moment. “I agree,” he said. “Which is why I have a different idea altogether.”

“Ok,” Kyle replied, surprised. “What is it?”

“Well, all of your ideas focus around healing charms, yeah? That’s sort of your… bread and butter, as it were.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true...”

“And my current project is dealing specifically with healing charms as well.”

“Yeah…” He was already aware of that. It wasn’t a problem. Advancements in the world of Healing were always needed. There was room enough for both of them.

“So, I think you should take on my project with me.” He eyed Kyle warily as he said this, as though he wasn’t sure how the brunet would react.

Kyle _didn’t _really know how to react, truth be told. He’d done joint projects in the past, of course. Some things required extra hands and extra minds. But since coming to London, he’d been flying solo, and that was what he was used to. Work dynamics in a lab setting were as important as expertise, and he had no way of knowing how he would work with Clint.

“We’d share credit down the middle, of course,” Clint said, perhaps trying to guess Kyle’s concern, though he was off the mark. “50-50 in everything.”

“You sure you want to share your project with me? It was your idea, and a really good one.”

“A good idea inspired by _your _work to begin with,” he pointed out. “And you’ve already consulted on it multiple times. I wouldn’t be nearly as far along without your help, and I’m not just saying that. With you on board, things would really fly, I think. There’s a lot I’m still figuring out and I would appreciate having a partner.”

Kyle considered asking for some time to think about it, but as he sat there he realized that it really was his best option. Clint’s new project had seemed interesting from the beginning, and it was true that they always managed to be productive together, in conversation, at least. Why would the lab be any different?

“All right, I’m in.”

A smile split Clint’s face, and Kyle was relieved. A part of him was still worried that the other man was offering to share the project out of obligation, or just to be nice, which he could totally see Clint doing. But the other wizard seemed genuinely excited to work with him, and Kyle felt himself giving him a small, tentative smile in return.

Maybe this was exactly what he needed.

***

By the end of September, Kyle had hit a reliable and enjoyable routine. He looked forward to work a lot more now that he had joined Clint’s project. They did very well together, visiting each other often in their offices to go over new protocols and review their notes, and their lab time was Kyle’s favorite part of the day. Clint was quiet when they worked, which suited Kyle very well. He could rarely concentrate surrounded by a lot of noise or talking, which was partially why he had resisted working jointly with other members of the department. But he’d never given Clint enough credit for the kind of focus he was capable of, and it encouraged Kyle to focus as well.

They were slowly starting to get to know each other, each managing to come out of their shells and talk about things other than work. Clint gave him small glimpses into his life, talking about his sisters and his father, who had raised the children alone for the majority of Clint’s childhood.

Kyle found himself talking a lot too, about his family, his friends back in Toronto, his favorite things to do outside of work.

It was a slow process, though. Clint only shared new things on occasion. But each new nugget of information was like a treasure; it was always interesting, and even more precious for its rarity. Kyle was learning to appreciate that.

He’d gotten closer with the rest of the department as well, and was now a regular at pub nights. He and Willem were getting to know each other better by default, since Kyle now spent so much more time in Clint’s office, which he shared with the older wizard. And Rico, it turned out, was about much more than Quidditch and cute witches, and – after a particularly fun night where Kyle and Rico both had a lot to drink and ended up quoting their favorite movies all night – the invisible barriers between them were starting to come down. He and Hannah had always had a bond, and it only deepened as Halloween rolled around and Hannah learned that her ex, Neville, had started dating someone else, someone he worked with at Hogwarts.

That had been a rough one, but Kyle was there hold back Hannah’s hair as she got rip-roaringly drunk and ended up puking in the pub toilets. Kyle rubbed her back and said any soothing words he could think of, knowing it was about getting through it more than anything. He’d been there.

And, all the while, Kyle avoided dating. He actually found this incredibly fulfilling, which surprised him. Deepening friendships were what he had really needed all along, it turned out, and he had no desire to break his temporary celibacy just yet. He occasionally got chatted up at the Leaky or out and about in London, by wizards and Muggles alike, but he found he was so focused on learning to be single and happy that no one ever sparked his interest. He did, occasionally, slip into old narratives about missed chances and fear that he would end up alone, but he felt much more equipped to handle that than before. All he needed to do, he was learning, was mention his thoughts to Angelina or Hannah and they would give him a little pep talk and remind him of the things he was trying to do for himself. And it always worked.

***

October gave way to November and the London streets were getting chillier. Kyle was pretty inured to the cold, though, and he actually welcomed the change. With the shift in season also came the annual European Charms Conference in Munich, which Kyle _wasn’t _all that excited about, though only because it was taking Clint away for a few days. He was going to present his newest patent on charmed metals there, and Kyle was genuinely happy for him. But Kyle found he was going to miss the man. He had a lot more fun working with him than alone.

“Don’t leave me!” he cried jokingly, the day before Clint was set to take his international portkey. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

Clint rolled his eyes but smiled a small smile that told Kyle he was a lot more pleased than he was willing to let on. “You’ll be fine without me. I won’t even be gone a week.”

Kyle pouted. “But I’ll be bored working on my own. You’ve spoiled me. And you’re the one who knows how to talk to Rosemary.”

“I’ve _told _you how to talk to Rosemary already,” he answered, which was perfectly true. The man had given Kyle a lot of tips at how to sweet talk the witch into being nicer, and giving him better lab hours. But Kyle hadn’t actually put these tips to use. Rosemary still intimidated the hell out of him.

Kyle sighed despondently.

“I’ll come back to you soon,” Clint said. “I promise.”

And the next day he was gone, and things _were _different. One would think, given how quiet the man was, that it wouldn’t make much of a difference to the energy around the office. But it really did. If anything, everyone was more jumpy and restless, not having the anchor of Clint’s presence around to ground them. Angelina and Hannah bickered a lot more, and Kyle felt kind of floaty as he went through his work, wishing he had his partner to turn to when he hit a snag in their current experiment.

At least the Rosemary sweet-talking worked out. Early the following week, Kyle finally accepted the inevitable and went to talk to her about next month’s lab hours, since the project depended on getting enough of them. He wasn’t sure if it was putting Clint’s “foolproof” script to good use, or if it was the fact that Rosemary knew these hours were for Clint’s benefits as much as Kyle’s, but she was very reasonable about the whole thing. Kyle left her office intact and actually a little cheerful – rather than with a feeling he had been put through a meat grinder as usual – and he counted that as a win.

He made his way down the hall, back towards his office, thinking of Clint and how proud he would be that his advice had worked out. Kyle couldn’t wait to tell him about it.

“There you are!” said a familiar voice. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Kyle was shaken from his musings to find Pansy Parkinson standing just outside his office, arms crossed and mouth tilted in a typical, slight smirk. He stared in surprise for a second, not used to seeing her in this part of the Ministry. If he ran into her, it was always during lunchtime in the commissary.

“Looking for me?” he said, crossing to his office door and gesturing her inside.

“Yes,” she said, accepting the invitation with a nod of her head. Kyle followed behind her. “I have an invitation for you. Usually I would send such things by owl, of course, but I thought it better to deliver this one in person. I’m aware you might need some persuasion.”

“Oh, Gods,” said Kyle, laughing. He took a seat behind his desk and Pansy took the other chair. “This doesn’t bode well.”

She batted her eyelashes at him, smiling with a sweetness that likely portended his doom. “It bodes very well, actually, so long as you accept the inevitable. I’ve made an acquaintance recently, you see, who I think you would quite enjoy knowing as well, and I’ve invited him to a dinner party next week. I’d like for you to attend.”

“You’re trying to set me up with someone.”

“Yes, naturally,” she said, unfazed by Kyle’s cutting to the chase.

Kyle sighed. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve decided to stay single for a while. After everything that’s happened recently… it’s what I’ve felt I needed, to, you know, get my head on right.”

“You mean everything with Draco?” Pansy asked, not unkindly. “That was nearly four months ago.”

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed, knowing exactly what she was implying. _You should be over it by now. _“But it’s not just about that. It’s not really about that at all. Draco breaking up with me wasn’t exactly fun, but it’s the end of my relationship with Evan that really… That’s what I’m wrestling with, more than anything. And I just don’t think dating someone new would help me with that.”

Pansy crossed her legs gracefully, head tilting as she thought that over. “It’s a reasonable argument, I’ll grant you that,” she said, after a moment. “But I would also consider how that kind of thinking might be holding you back, might make you miss some quite wonderful opportunities.”

Kyle looked at her skeptically. “You think I’ll like your new… acquaintance that much?”

She shrugged. “I think you might. And I certainly think he will like you. At the very least you could end up friends, and what would be the harm in that?”

“I don’t know…”

“Come to the dinner, at least. It’s going to be much smaller and more intimate than my summer events, and not the usual suspects. I think you’ll find you fit right in.”

Kyle chuckled. He should probably not be surprised that Pansy had picked up on his discomfort with her regular cohort. He wondered what she thought made these particular guests different.

“I appreciated that you came along with Lindsey to my parties, you know,” she said. “even though it wasn’t your scene. You always made a nice addition, and Theo especially enjoyed your conversations.” She met his eyes with a sudden, surprisingly melancholy expression, and Kyle couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling that he had unwittingly been drawn into a trap. “We both feel it would be a shame to lose the connection, just because Lindsey has left. We like you very much, and we would like to continue spending time with you.”

Kyle sighed again. Pansy was nothing if not persistent, and very clever. He knew exactly what she was doing, yet he still no longer felt as if he could say “no.”

“All right, I’ll go. I can’t make any promises about hitting it off with your friend, though,” he added, in reaction to Pansy’s triumphant smile. “I hope you won’t give him any expectations.”

“None at all, I assure you,” she said smoothly, “beyond just that you’re intelligent, handsome, and quite the do-gooder. But I would say that to anyone who asked about you, so the expectations are hardly inflated.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “I’ll apologize in advance for disappointing him then.”

Pansy shook her head. “You are a puzzle, my dear,” she said. But he had already agreed to go, and she was satisfied enough with that. She said a quick goodbye to him, letting him know she would owl him the details.

Kyle was left with the distinct impression that he had been expertly manipulated, and he had no idea how he was supposed to feel about that.

***

Kyle was so convinced that he would regret attending Pansy’s party and meeting this acquaintance of hers, that it wasn’t until a few hours into the endeavor that he realized he was actually having a pretty good time.

The man Pansy had been so sure Kyle would get along with was… appealing. Kyle wasn’t sure of another word for it. He was shorter than Kyle and kind of compact, but wore tight jeans that flattered him and showed off his muscle. He favored dark colors and had a bit of punk vibe, complete with a wallet chain, studs in his leather belt, and what Kyle was pretty sure was a hint of eyeliner. He wore his golden blond hair on the longer side, and it gave him long, swoopy bangs that sometimes fell over his ice blue eyes. His name was Max. Max Cobalt.

Maybe Kyle should have found his coloring disconcerting, after Draco, but in truth he felt like Max and Draco were both blonds in the same way that toucans and owls were both birds. While Draco carried himself with the poise and grace of his obviously pureblood upbringing, Max lounged, seemingly incapable of sitting up straight. Despite his small size he took up space, both literally and figuratively, spreading his arms out across the back of a sofa and putting his boot-clad feet on the coffee table, smiling widely, laughing loudly, always keeping the conversation going.

From the moment Pansy had introduced them, Max had started asking questions. Where was Kyle from? How did he like London? What did he do for fun? What music did he listen to? What books did he like?

It never felt like an interrogation, though, because Max always had something interesting to say in reaction, something to share about himself, that made Kyle feel like he could relate. It was a real conversation, a good conversation, and time flew by without Kyle noticing. By the time he realized he’d stayed longer at this party than he ever had any of Pansy’s others, it was becoming clear to him that Pansy was better at matchmaking than he could have guessed. He laughed aloud at this, causing Max to pause in what he was saying and give him a smile and raise of the eyebrows.

“Sorry,” Kyle said. “You were saying?”

“I want to know what made you laugh just now,” he said smiling his always-smile. “Because it seemed like a good joke.”

“It’s not really. Or maybe it is, I don’t know. I was just realizing how long I’ve been here talking to you and…” He trailed off, knowing he was in danger of sounding very stupid. But Max just stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. “When Pansy told me, well…” He laughed again. _Merlin_. Why did he have to feel so awkward so much of the time? “Let’s just say you weren’t what I was expecting.”

Max did laugh. “I’m rarely what anyone ever expects,” he said proudly.

“She didn’t tell me anything about you,” said Kyle. “Only that I would like you.”

“She told me _a lot _about you,” Max said.

“Oh Gods, and you still wanted to meet me?”

Max laughed again, like _that _was the good joke. “She told me you were tall, cute, and completely brilliant. So far so good, I’d say.”

Kyle felt himself blush, and wasn’t sure how to answer.

“We should go out sometime,” Max said. He leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “There’s so much more to do in wizarding London than attend these stuffy parties.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Kyle said. “I’ll admit I haven’t had that much chance to explore.”

“Well, then we should explore!” Max said, looking enthusiastic. “There’s _so much _I could show you.”

They made plans for the following week and Max, true to his word, managed to fill an entire Saturday with interesting things for them to do. They started at an open market at the far end of Diagon that popped up at seemingly random times, though Max intimated that you could figure out when it was going to happen if you knew the right people.

And he always seemed to know the right people. He was familiar with multiple vendors and introduced Kyle to all of them. Kyle would usually find this overwhelming, but much of the goods being sold used obscure and experimental charms, and he could hold his own in conversation about them. Max looked on with a proud and satisfied grin, saying, as they walked, “I _knew _you would like it here.”

The man had a way of making a person feel wonderful just as they were, and Kyle was very drawn to that. Max was so different from him: gregarious, high energy, and completely unreserved, but Kyle never felt lacking in his presence.

At the market they bought enough street food to feed an army and had a great time at a nearby park, eating an impromptu picnic where they tried a bit of everything.

“My eyes are always bigger than my stomach,” Max moaned happily, laying back in the grass, clutching his abdomen, making Kyle laugh.

In the evening they went out for drinks, meeting up with a couple of other friends Max was sure Kyle would like. Kyle had heard that before, and might have gone in with some skepticism, but it turned out to be true. They were artsy types, like Max, but very down to earth and just as happy to hear from Kyle as to share their own perspectives. So not at all like Evan’s old friends that Kyle disliked so much.

To top it all off, at the end of the night Max insisted on accompanying him to his doorstep, and they ended up sharing a pretty great kiss in the lobby of Kyle’s building. Kyle wasn’t ready to bring him up to his apartment yet, and Max seemed fine with that, but it was nice to know there was potential for physical compatibility as well.

“Can we go out again sometime?” Max asked him, as they were finally getting ready to say goodnight.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” Kyle answered honestly. “But I’m going out of town pretty soon, so it will have to be when I get back.”

“For the holidays?”

“Yeah. I’m going to stay with my parents in Toronto. They haven’t seen me since I came to London, so I’m taking some vacation time to extend my stay.”

“Makes sense,” Max said. “I’ll miss you though.”

Kyle gave Max another peck to the lips, smiling. The other man was pretty cute, and hard to resist. “I’ll be back before New Year’s.”

“Great, “ Max answered, grinning. “I have a lot of other ideas for things we can do together.”

“Sounds good.” If their dates all went as this one had, Kyle could definitely get behind it.

***

When Kyle stepped back into the Ministry after a few weeks away, he found he had actually missed it. It had been great to catch up with his parents and to see Lindsey again, and to be able to show them that he was happy. The prospect of going back to work, then, should have been daunting or odious. But it wasn’t. He realized he had missed his work family while he was gone, and he was looking forward to their next pub night and get back in the swing of his routine.

It also helped that he’d gotten an owl from Max the night before, asking if he was back in town yet and if he wanted to go out with him some time that week.

All in all, things were looking up.

He beat Angelina to the office that morning, and wondered with a smirk whether she was still sleeping off the week of holiday excitement. While he waited for her he went through his inbox and then unrolled that edition of the _Prophet _that had been delivered that morning. Bypassing the political and sports sections (always boring), he went straight to the gossip pages, where all the juicy stuff could be found.

And was immediately confronted with a large picture of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, walking hand in hand with huge smiles on their faces. With some shock, he read the headline:

_NEWS FROM DRARRY WATCH! HARRY AND DRACO ENGAGED!_

Kyle snorted in amusement. So the couple had an official nickname now? He supposed it was inevitable, especially given this most recent development. His eyes scanned the picture briefly, noting that the graphics team at the paper had made a point of circling the simple but elegant engagement rings that bedecked each of their left hands, before finding a list of highlights below.

_-IT HAPPENED OVER CHRISTMAS!_

_-A MUTUAL PROPOSAL!_

_-THEY’RE BOTH WEARING RINGS!_

_-INSIDE: Details on the happy couple’s summer wedding plans_

The details themselves were actually very sparse, Kyle found as he turned the page to have a look. It was a lot of speculation and not a lot of fact, though that had been true about the coverage of Draco and Harry since the papers had first gotten wind of the relationship. As Draco had relayed to Kyle before, the two men valued their privacy, and only tolerated the papers reporting on their relationship because they knew it was unavoidable.

Kyle was just finishing the article when Angelina came in, greeting him with a smile and looking no worse for wear, actually. But when she saw what he was reading, the smile fell, replaced by a look that was cautiously concerned.

“I was hoping I’d get a chance to warn you first,” she said.

Kyle looked down at the article again and frowned. “Well, as much as I appreciate that, you don’t need to worry. I’m not upset.”

She didn’t answer, and he glanced up at her again to find her looking skeptical, if not also a little pitying.

“Oh, Gods,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Please stop looking at me like that. I’m fine with it. Seriously.”

She still didn’t say anything, and Kyle decided, with a sigh, that the only thing to do was prove it to her. “I assume you were there?” he said. “When it happened?”

She watched him a moment, chewing on her lip before coming around her desk and taking a seat. She leaned back in her chair, finding his gaze again.

“For part of it,” she said. “Harry’s proposal happened behind closed doors, later. But I saw Draco’s… if you could call it that.”

Kyle raised his eyebrows in a question, encouraging her to continue.

“You really want to know the details?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “I really want to know. And not to torture myself either. I’m just curious. The paper doesn’t seem to know much of anything, and I’d like to know how it happened. They both really proposed to each other?”

“They bought each other rings for Christmas,” Angelina said, sighing in defeat. “I got the impression it was some sort of unspoken contest, about who would ask who, and I suppose they independently got it in their heads that Christmas was a good time to do it. Harry had his stashed away somewhere and apparently was going to ask Draco later on in the evening, when he had him alone. But Draco had put _his _ring under the tree at the Burrow, in a big red box so as to be inconspicuous, so Harry would open it in front of everyone and be surprised. And of course Harry _did _open it, and everyone was shocked and pleased and all that, and wanted to know what Harry was going to say. And then Harry started yelling at Draco, calling him a ‘sneaky git’ – grinning all the while, you understand – and going on about how he knew he should have asked Draco the night before, instead of waiting, and how could he have let Draco get to it first… And Draco just sat there with this dopey smile on his face like Harry was the most brilliant thing he’d ever seen and like this reaction was totally normal, and it was all… all right, it was all quite sweet actually. Especially when Draco joined Harry on the floor in front of the tree and took out the ring and did a whole speech about how Harry is his best friend and the love of his life, and he kind of teared up and… you know, all of that.” She waved a hand, as if Draco’s heartfelt declarations of love and devotion weren’t the important part of the story. “And then everyone was getting all sniffly and weepy, and Draco put the ring on Harry’s finger, and then there was a fair bit of snogging. And that was it. That’s what happened.” She released another sigh, awaiting Kyle’s reaction.

He was smiling softly, picturing it. “It does sound sweet.”

She arched a brow. “That’s all you have to say?”

Kyle shrugged. “So Harry gave Draco his ring later, without everyone watching?”

“Yes, apparently. That’s more his style. Draco loves a show, but I think Harry wanted to… well… He generally prefers to say personal things like that without an audience. So I have no way of knowing exactly what he said or did when he gave Draco the ring, but I know that he did it that night, because when we saw the two of them the next day, they were both wearing their rings.”

Kyle nodded. “And they’re getting married this summer?”

“That’s the plan. There’s talk of them having it at Hogwarts, but nothing has been set.”

“Hm. Well, I guess that kind of makes sense. Good for them.”

“_Good for them_?” Angelina repeated. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” Kyle said, somewhat defensively. “It’s been, what? Five or six months now? You had to figure I’d be over it by now.”

“The way you were acting… you know, for a while there…” She trailed off.

He sniffed, returning his eyes to the paper and the picture of the two beautiful men smiling at the camera. “That was a while ago too,” he said. “And not just because of Draco. Because of a lot of things. Because… do I really have to explain it to you?”

Her face softened. “No,” she said.

“At the time, I thought Draco and I had promise. But we didn’t. He was in love with someone else, which was totally out of my control. I had no way of knowing and…” He took a deep breath, then sighed. “And I’m ok with that now. I know it wasn’t about me. Draco didn’t exactly… do right by me, choosing to date me when he was in love with Harry, but he didn’t have bad intentions. And I wasn’t exactly whole either. I was still getting over Evan, so…” He half-shrugged, hoping Angelina would fill in the blanks.

She slumped back in her chair, in a way Kyle could only describe as relieved. “Thank the Gods,” she said. “Because I was honestly really worried about how you would react. I didn’t want it to… come as a shock.”

Kyle scoffed. “It’s hardly a shock. I saw it coming before anyone else.” He gave her a look. “I _told _you they were serious. You were the one who insisted they weren’t.”

“Yes, yes, all right,” she said, waving her hand again. “They are, and you called it. And Draco is actually rather lovely, once you get to know him. I think… I do believe now that this thing between him and Harry is real. I just…” She chewed on her lip a moment. “I love Harry, and I want what’s best for him. But I love you too, you know? And I want what’s best for you.”

Kyle stifled a pleased smile. “Draco isn’t what’s best for me. So, good news there.”

Angelina sighed. “Yes. That is very much true.”

“So… maybe it’s time to talk about something else. Aren’t you going to ask about my Christmas?”

“Of course I am! Tell me all about it. Meet any cute blokes? Have a holiday fling, maybe?”

Kyle hadn’t, but it wasn’t like he was bothered by that. He had a very promising opportunity in Max, one he was intending to follow through on as soon as he had time to draft the wizard a quick letter to make plans. Until then, though, he could regale Angelina with the small dramas of his family and the juicy details of Lindsey’s latest relationship.

“It looks like this one actually might stick,” Kyle said. “Which makes Mom overly-ecstatic and Dad very skeptical. Funnily enough, I think Lindsey found both reactions equally annoying.”

Angelina laughed. “Well, I’m happy for her, at least. I’m sure you are too.”

“I am. That’s what I told her. It was nice to have some time with her. We got to talk like we used to. Not just about our problems, you know, but about the good stuff too.” Lindsey had commented on how together and content Kyle seemed now, and that was really gratifying to hear.

“You’ve been missing her, I’m sure. I know you haven’t said, but I could tell.”

Kyle gave Angelina a small smile. “I have been. But it’s easier than I thought it would be. In some ways, I think it’s been good for me to have my own life. I feel like I’m… building my own family, you know? I’ve got my own family right here. I feel really lucky.”

Angelina threw a piece of balled up parchment at him. “You big sap. Stop talking, or you’re going to make me cry.” Kyle laughed but followed her instructions. Of course, in truth, she wanted to hear more and just couldn’t admit it, so after a short silence she looked at him sideways and said, “So, what does that make me then? Your work sister?”

“Well, I certainly would like that,” Kyle answered, grinning. “I can definitely use another big sister. But only if you want to be.”

Angelina scoffed and tossed another ball of parchment his way, which hit him in the arm. “Of course I do,” she said, and then added, fondly, for good measure, “Idiot.”

***

Kyle’s next date with Max was even more successful than the first. They met for dinner, and the conversation flowed easily. Max was fun, interesting, and easy to talk to. He mentioned a friend’s band that was playing that night at a nearby bar, and invited Kyle to come along. It might have been a work night, but Kyle found he didn’t want the night to end. He wanted to spend more time with Max, and that could only be a good thing.

At the venue they had a few drinks, jumped around, sang along to the songs, and got very sweaty. And very close. As the night wore on their kisses got longer and more heated, their hands more possessive on each other. It wasn’t much of a surprise to Kyle that when Max invited him back to his place, he didn’t hesitate to say yes. He had a feeling that whatever they got up to at Max’s apartment would be worth the cost of a rough morning at work the next day.

And, in the morning, Kyle felt pretty good, all things considered. He was fifteen minutes late for work, but couldn’t muster up any guilt about it. He’d tried to take a hasty shower that morning at Max’s apartment, but then Max had decided to join him, and that made the shower last much longer than planned. After realizing just how late they were, they both scarfed down a hasty breakfast and Kyle cast as many freshening and anti-wrinkle charms as possible on his clothes and flooed in straight to the Ministry.

How nice it was to have a floo. And an enthusiastic kiss goodbye. He could certainly get used to it.

When he stumbled into the office with an apologetic smile towards Angelina, he saw that she wasn’t alone. Clint was there, sitting backwards on the chair as usual in front of her desk. Both of them stared at Kyle with eyebrows raised.

“Good morning,” Kyle said, fighting a grin. He went around his desk to his cabinet to retrieve his backup work robes, glad he’d thought of keeping a spare set in his office for just this sort of situation.

“Those are yesterday’s clothes,” he heard Angelina say.

Kyle pulled the robes around him and began buttoning himself up. “And?”

Clint’s face was blank, but Angelina’s was overtly disapproving, which Kyle thought was pretty rich considering she was always telling him to find a man and live it up.

“Did you shower, at least?” she asked, scrunching her nose as if she smelled something bad.

“Of course,” Kyle said, unaffected. Max had a black pepper body wash that smelled incredible, so he knew Angelina had no real cause to complain. “Max helped me get plenty clean. Don’t worry.” He let himself grin fully now, knowing he looked a little smug. He was surprised to find that neither Angelina nor Clint looked particularly happy for him. He snorted, half confused and half annoyed, and settled into the chair behind his desk. Neither of them were going to ruin his good mood, if he had anything to say about it. He decided to ignore them, thinking about the steam of the shower and Max’s skilled hands on him as he looked through his inbox for anything that might need his attention.

“I should get back,” he heard Clint say to Angelina. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

“See you,” Angelina said, giving him a small wave.

“Our lab hours start at 1, right?” Kyle asked him as Clint was making for the door.

“Uh, yeah. That’s right. 1 o’clock,” Clint replied, that blank expression still on his face. Kyle realized it was very off-putting to see it there. “I’ll see you then.”

“Sounds good,” said Kyle, though Clint was already halfway out the door.

Mentally shrugging, Kyle returned to his paperwork. He wasn’t able to concentrate for long, though. He could practically feel Angelina’s stare boring into him. He looked at her, finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, and asked, still irritated, “What?”

She continued to stare, as though contemplating something. Then, clearly having made a decision, she stood up from her desk, coming around and seating herself in the chair opposite Kyle, sitting backwards the way Clint always did. There was a determined set to her mouth, though Kyle had no idea what it meant.

“I told myself I wasn’t going to do this,” she said. “I was asked not to do this. But I just don’t think I can take it anymore.”

“What’s wrong?” Kyle asked, completely disconcerted and wondering if he should be dreading whatever was coming next.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Ok…”

Kyle saw the held breath in Angelina’s shoulders, the tension making them rise, before she let it out. “I need you to stop talking about being with other blokes in front of Clint.”

Kyle’s spasm of surprise was followed not long after by a jolt of true anger. “He has a problem with it.”

“A big problem, actually. Though he would never say.”

“Well, so long as he would never say it,” Kyle snapped. “Obviously he has you to say it for him.”

“It just hurts and upsets him, Kyle,” she said pleadingly. “I promised I wouldn’t tell you, but I just can’t watch him go through this anymore. And I know you don’t understand why, because he’s never told you-“

“Oh, I think it’s pretty clear why,” Kyle said darkly. “Though it’s totally unfair.”

She frowned. “I don’t think it’s… _that _unfair.”

“Rico talks about the women he sleeps with all the time,” Kyle said. “And you don’t hear me, or Clint, for that matter, complaining about that. I don’t hear anyone complaining. This isn’t any different, just because I like guys…” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “And I thought Clint was more open-minded than that. I thought that we were friends and that he was cool about me being gay. So excuse me if it pisses me off that I suddenly I find out that’s not the case. That doesn’t exactly feel good to hear.”

Angelina stared at him, wide-eyed. “_What _are you talking about?”

Kyle stared back, equally bewildered at her bewilderment, trying to figure out what was going on. “What are _you _talking about?”

“Well, I’m obviously not talking about Clint having a problem with your sexuality,” Angelina said, rolling her eyes as though Kyle were being stupid, “considering he’s gay too and that would be pretty hypocritical.”

“I’m sorry, _what?"_ Kyle replied, gaping at her. He closed his mouth, realizing Angelina was probably just mistaken. “Clint isn’t gay.”

She laughed, though it sounded dry and disbelieving. “Uhhh, yeah, love, he is. Where have _you _been?”

“I’ve been right here, obviously. And Clint is not gay. I mean, he’s… you know…”

She watched him with raised eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

“Like, really… you know… _straight_.” He wasn’t sure how else to explain it. “Like, _really _straight. A total jock. Doesn’t talk about his feelings and… you know… really stoic all the time.”

Angelina snorted. “Is that what all straight men seem like to you?”

Kyle shrugged. “I dunno… kinda.”

“Just because Clint played sport and keeps things close to the vest doesn’t automatically mean he likes women. Honestly, do I really have to explain this to you?”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Obviously gay men aren’t all the same and they can like the same things straight guys like. I’m not an idiot.”

He ignored Angelina’s fake cough and muttering of “I beg to differ” under her breath.

“Clint just seems really straight to me, that’s all,” he went on. “The thought never crossed my mind that he could be anything else. And nobody freaking told me. Not him, not anyone.”

Angelina frowned in thought. “He’s been out forever. I mean, since Hogwarts. I suppose I never mentioned it because I assumed you knew. Seems to me like gay men always now how to recognize each other.”

“Well _not all the time_, obviously,” Kyle grumbled.

“Anyway, I guess it never came up. Probably because he honestly doesn’t date that much. Doesn’t much like casual, Clint, when it comes down to it. And then of course when you showed up… then he was really hopeless.”

Kyle furrowed his brow in confusion. “Hopeless how?”

Angelina’s expression had gone sober again. “Kyle…” she began, then paused, as though thinking about what she was going to say. “I’m not saying this to gossip or with any expectations beyond you just… being a little more sensitive around Clint, all right? If you’re not interested in him like that I understand. I don’t expect you to take to every other gay man that crosses your path or anything. But…”

Kyle continued to watch her, feeling as though he almost knew what was coming, though he wasn’t sure how it could be possible.

“Clint has very strong feelings for you,” Angelina went on. “Has since you got here. I know you didn’t know, so you shouldn’t feel bad about it. Clint never told anyone except me. And if Hannah or Rico picked up on anything, they’ve never mentioned it. Clint does keep things very private. He’s always been like that. It’s only because I’ve known him so long that he feels comfortable telling me the truth, about how mad he is for you. But he is. He is absolutely _mad _for you. And you keep dating other people and talking about it around him, and it’s hard for him. He wants to see you happy, of course, but it’s still… difficult. Painful.”

Kyle couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of Angelina’s mouth. He’d barely wrapped his head around the idea that Clint liked men. And to hear that Clint liked _him_… what was he supposed to make of that?

“I’m going to assume you’re not cruel enough to joke about something like this,” he said.

“Of course I’m not,” said Angelina. “This is _so _far from a joke.”

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know what to _think_, how to feel about this.”

“I know. It’s all right. Like I said, I didn’t expect you to… I mean, you’ve had a lot going on recently, haven’t you? And I’ve always assumed that if you liked Clint in that way you might have done something about it by now. Of course, now I know you never considered it because you thought he was straight, but even so. It seems like maybe he’s not your type and, you know, I respect that. I just want you to respect that he’s sensitive about you dating other people and that maybe if you could just tone that down a bit… not talk about it when he’s in the room? I hope he’ll figure out how to get over you eventually, but until then…”

Kyle shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” But Kyle had no good answer, other than, _why would Clint like me that much? _He wasn’t anything special, and he couldn’t think of one thing he might have done to earn Clint’s admiration. He hadn’t even been all that friendly to him until recently.

But he also remembered what he had promised himself, that he would try and stop harboring so much self-doubt.

_Why _wouldn’t _Clint like me? __We have a lot in common. Isn’t… isn’t it possible?_

Yet Kyle had never seen any signs of it, which remained the biggest sticking point.

“He never told me,” Kyle pointed out, after some thought. “He’s _had _opportunities to ask me out.”

“He’s shy,” Angelina said. “And afraid of rejection, just like the rest of us. And the majority of the time you’ve been here, you’ve either been dating someone or have declared that you’re not dating at all. So I suppose he never saw it as the right time.”

“He hardly even talked to me until I joined his research project.”

Angelina scoffed. “That’s not true. He came in every week with a bunch of questions about charms he had desperately generated as an excuse to have conversations with you.”

Kyle absorbed that, trying to make sense of it. “That’s what all that was about? Having an excuse to talk to me?”

“Yes,” Angelina said, somewhat impatiently. “Essentially. Not that he didn’t get something productive out of your conversations, but it was mostly about spending time with you. Did you honestly think, after the nearly nine years that he has been working in Charms Development, that he wouldn’t already know the answers to half of what he asked you? Or that he would find you more useful than our extensive research library?”

Kyle snorted, remembering all the times he’d had similar thoughts. “Yeah, I always did wonder.”

“I know you did; I could tell by the look on your face every time,” Angelina replied, her eyes glinting with amusement. “He could too, I wager. He knew the excuses were flimsy, but he couldn’t seem to help himself, bless him.”

“Why didn’t he just talk to me about normal things?” Kyle asked. “He’s plenty good at that with you.”

“I’m his best friend here. He’s comfortable with me and also isn’t worried about what I think of him. Because he knows I love him already. But you…” She grinned. “Merlin, you make him so tongue-tied. Maybe less so now, that you two have worked together. But in the beginning…” She chuckled. “He could never think of anything to ask you that wasn’t work related. He said every time he looked into your eyes, his mind would go blank. He _really _admires your eyes, you know.”

Her smile was sly now, and Kyle felt his cheeks heat. “This is really weird,” he said.

“It’s a lot to take in at once,” she said, with understanding. “And maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Merlin knows Clint would be mortified if he knew you knew how he felt. But…” She trailed off.

“I’m glad you told me,” Kyle said, realizing as he said it that it was true. He still didn’t entirely know what to make of the information, but he was glad he knew it. “I’ll be more sensitive, I promise.”

“Thank you,” she said, sighing. “That’s all I wanted, really. Well, nearly. If you two did end up getting together, I certainly wouldn’t be opposed.”

“I see,” said Kyle wryly. “Now the truth comes out.”

She rolled her eyes. “No pressure, of course. You obviously like this Max bloke you’ve started seeing. But still, it’s hard for me to imagine someone more wonderful, or more suited to you, than Clint.”

“You think so?”

“Of course. You want someone sweet and caring, don’t you? Someone loyal, someone true? Someone who will always be there for you?”

“Well, _yeah. _Obviously.”

“Then he’s your man,” Angelina said, as if it weren’t up for debate. “I don’t know a soul who fits that description better than Clint. Not to mention how spectacularly fit he is. Big, black, and beautiful. Who wouldn’t want him?”

Kyle snorted. “Your husband all right with you talking like that about another man?”

Angelina shrugged, grinning. “George has no reason to be threatened, not when he knows the man in question is as gay as a maypole and more like a brother to me than anything. Still… he _is _fit. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Had he? The rest of the day, Kyle found himself considering the question. Giving it some thought, he supposed that he had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that he had internally acknowledged Clint’s attractiveness. But only – he emphatically insisted – in the way that he acknowledged the attractiveness of any straight man: with a detachedness that never allowed any real interest. Straight men were unattainable and therefore pointless to pine over.

Clint had belonged squarely in that category, at least in Kyle’s mind, for so long that it required a lot of reorientation for him to think about it any other way. But, as the morning gave way to the afternoon and Kyle found himself back in the lab with Clint, Kyle did try to think about it, and think about it seriously.

If a person were to line up all the men that Kyle had dated since his teens, they would be hard pressed to be able to define a physical type. Kyle was certainly not immune to physical beauty (Draco Malfoy being living proof), but any kind of long-term interest was always based on other things: personality, intelligence, kindness, charm. When it came to looks, Kyle didn’t have much of a type at all.

Still, he had never dated anyone so tall or large as Clint Monarch. If anything, Kyle was used to being “the tall one” in the relationship by a few inches. He’d positively towered over his first boyfriend, back in sixth year, and he’d had a good four or five inches on Evan, who was under six feet. Because of this, he was used to being the one on the outside of the hug, the big spoon, the one who had to dip his head for a kiss. The idea of being the smaller one, the thinner one, the one who got to be wrapped up… well, that was kind of a novel idea, actually.

But also strange, definitely strange.

While Kyle and Clint both tinkered with the charms, tried different techniques on their samples, and compared notes, Kyle let half his brain wander to Clint and his muscular form. It was apparent even under the layer of robes, and Kyle had seen Clint out of his work clothes too at the pub, obviously. For a long time, he’d found all that muscle pretty intimidating, if he were honest, despite Clint’s soft-spoken and peaceful nature.

But when he looked past the intimidation factor and let himself think of the benefits of that muscle, let himself imagine running his hands over them, having those strong arms pick up him and toss him onto a bed or hold him upright while he rode Clint, of the way Clint’s toned ass would be perfect to help him thrust hard and deep…

Ok, he was getting a little carried away, and was now definitely, _definitely _picturing Clint completely naked. Which was not convenient, given his current circumstances. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to control his wayward thoughts, as well as the funny, sharp ache they had kindled inside him.

Because there was definitely something to be said for athleticism, even just in his own imagination…

He shook himself again from thinking of the acrobatic sex he might be able to have with Clint. Because the truth of it was, Kyle had never been all that concerned with how acrobatic his sex was. Sex was nice, sure, but it wasn’t the priority. And Clint was hot – he could admit that fully now – but that didn’t automatically mean they would be good together. Another nugget of wisdom he’d taken from his conversation with Draco was that compatibility between two people was a much larger factor of success than any measure of “hotness” or… (what was the word Draco used?) “dateability.”

If anything, Kyle’s apparent ability to be attracted to Clint only made things more confusing. Because he still wasn’t sure he could feel _that way _about Clint Monarch, as much as he did like him, after feeling strictly platonic about him for so long.

And there was Max to consider, someone Kyle knew he both liked and was attracted to. He definitely wanted to see where it would go.

So, when it came right down to it, what choice did he have but to let things unfold as they were?

***

Kyle continued to see Max once or twice per week. Max was always inviting him to do things, most of which involved other people that Max knew one way or another. It was fun to go out, and everyone he met while by Max’s side was undeniably interesting, and, better yet, interested in getting to know him too. But he also had to admit he relished most the moments that he could be one on one with Max, whether it was over a meal, at a quiet bar, or snuggled up with Max on one of their sofas.

But these moments were proving to be hard to come by, one might even say elusive.

“I wish we could spend more time together,” Kyle told him one night as they were leaving a party, one with a guest list where Max seemed to know just about everyone – and Kyle knew no one.

“We are spending time together,” Max said, taking his hand. “I’m really glad you came tonight. I have more fun with you around.”

Kyle wasn’t sure that was true. It wasn’t that he doubted Max’s sincerity. He had an earnest, guileless way about it that made him hard to doubt. But Max was also distractible, and seemed to have fun with whomever happened to be in front of him at the time. So while he thought that Max _believed _that what he said was true, Kyle had to wonder if Max would have had an equal amount of fun had he been with someone else.

He wasn’t sure how to explain that to Max, though, without hurting his feelings.

“I was hoping we could have more alone time, that’s all.”

“Well,” said Max, a smile spreading across his face that Kyle was starting to recognize, “that’s why I was going to invite you back to my place again.”

There was a hope in his eyes and a possessive grip to his hand that Kyle found hard to resist. And besides, this was what he wanted, right?

“Yeah, sure,” Kyle agreed. “I’d like that.”

And again, he enjoyed himself. Sex with Max was fun, playful; they relaxed and talked afterward. Max liked to cuddle and to dance his fingers along Kyle’s stomach. And Kyle liked all of that.

But he couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.

Or, when he gave it more thought, he realized it was that things between them weren’t progressing. All these nights out with other people were getting in the way, keeping anything of real depth to develop between them. The late night sex and subsequent rushed morning wasn’t enough. They needed more.

_Let’s have a night in_, Kyle suggested in an owl to Max, a response to yet another invitation. _I want to spend more time just us. I want to get to know you better._

_I want to know you better too, _Max wrote back, and his note actually included a smiley face, which Kyle couldn’t get but find endearing. And that gave him hope. A night in… it was the predecessor to Kyle’s favorite thing: a whole weekend in. It was, in his opinion, one of the best ways to further a relationship. Not just fun in the dark together, but a lazy breakfast the next day, maybe a walk in the park, some afternoon sex, takeout dinner and a movie, followed by another night in bed… in Kyle’s opinion, it couldn’t get any better than that.

But their tentative plan for a night in fell through when another of Max’s musician friends was having a launch party for his demo at some club, the same night they had made plans, and Max wanted to go. Kyle stared at the note Max had sent him about it, wondering if he had a right to feel annoyed. Max was changing their plans at the last minute, and he couldn’t understand why Max hadn’t remembered this before. His absentmindedness was starting to grate on Kyle a little, but he immediately felt guilty for thinking that. Because no one was perfect, and he knew Max meant well.

_Please come with me_, Max’s note pleaded. _It wouldn’t be the same without you. We can have a night in at my place afterward_.

It wouldn’t be the same, but, again, Kyle wasn’t sure he could really explain that to Max. He was having a hard time putting into words what bothered him so much about it. So, deciding to be a good sport, he agreed.

Max kissed him thoroughly when he came to pick Kyle up at his apartment, and then they Apparated to the club together.

“There are going to be some great people here,” Max told him. “You’ll love them.”

They went to the bar immediately for whiskeys and made their way through the room, Max smiling and hugging and kissing everyone who came his way before introducing Kyle to all of them as his boyfriend and telling them that he was a specialist in Charms and “a complete genius.”

Everyone was nice, as all of Max’s friends seemed to be, and there were a number that were genuinely interested in his work. Kyle described his current research and did his best to think of good questions to ask to keep the conversation going. He stayed engaged, he made people laugh, he said things that others seemed to find insightful.

He felt perfectly confident in his own performance; he had no fear that these people were judging him or disliked him. And yes, that was progress.

But he was also exhausted by all of it.

After about an hour they finally made their way towards the tables, where Kyle could sit down and take a sip or two of the drink he’d barely touched. They were joined by a lesbian couple Kyle had met at a party with Max previously, and it was nice to be around people he at least knew somewhat. He’d just been introduced to more people than he’d really ever cared to know in his life, and they were all starting to blur together.

“Having fun?” Max asked in his ear, his tone a little bit flirtatious.

“Yeah,” Kyle said, because he knew that was what he was supposed to say. “Great people, like you said.”

“Told you,” Max replied with a knowing smile.

“I never doubted you,” Kyle said, feeling a small stab of annoyance. “It’s not that. It’s just… I’m more of an introvert, you know. Meeting a lot of new people at once kind of wears me out.”

Max nodded. “Sure,” he said. “We can just sit and talk for a bit, yeah? Wait for the music to start?” He squeezed Kyle’s knee.

“Sure.”

“I’ll get us more drinks first. I feel like a beer. Sound good?”

Kyle gave him a half-shrug of assent. He didn’t really care about having another drink, but Max wanted one. And he really didn’t feel like braving the crowd alongside him to go get him one.

With another squeeze of Kyle’s knee, the blond was gone, and Kyle was left to converse with Meryl and Cleo, who asked him if he had adjusted to life in London yet.

They were joined a few minutes later by another friend of the couple’s, who pulled up his own chair and starting talking to the two women. It put Kyle out of the conversation a little, but he didn’t really mind. He was looking around for Max, wondering what was taking so long.

He finally spotted him. He was by the bar, but not ordering or looking to be waiting for drinks. Instead, he was talking to a couple of other patrons who were in stools next to him, their own drinks already in hand.

Kyle dug his dull nails into his palm, trying to manage the rising frustration and impatience. It seemed like they were never going to get a chance to finish their conversation or spend any real time together. He looked around the room, watching as people were clustered in groups, talking and laughing away, jumping in with each other to try to get a word in edgewise, and it only made Kyle feel more tired. This wasn’t where he wanted to be on a Wednesday night. He had known that going in, but this was only further confirmation.

He looked over at Max again, who appeared to be on his way back over to the table. He had two pints in hand, and it perked him up a little. Maybe they’d get some time together after all.

But then, halfway to the table, Max was waylaid by someone he knew, and as they chatted Kyle watched him, half annoyed, half fascinated by how easygoing Max was, and how easy it was for him to get distracted. He didn’t look at all uncomfortable or in a hurry as he talked and laughed, clearly not trying to make a move to extricate himself.

Kyle heaved a sigh, a heavy resignation coming over him. After all, if Max didn’t want to make the effort to spend time with him, Kyle wasn’t sure why he was making the effort to stick around. The bar was sapping all his energy and all he could think about was his big workload tomorrow.

And, if he were honest, the thought of that didn’t tire him as much as the thought of staying out with Max all night. He’d happily trade working in the lab with Clint than drinking here with these people he barely knew.

Before he could overthink it, he stood up, grabbing his jacket. Cleo noticed this and gave him a friendly wave. He waved back with a small smile and made his way to the door. Maybe it was rude to just leave without saying goodbye to Max, but the guy was busy without him and seemed perfectly happy to be.

“Hey, wait,” he heard someone call as he got closer to the entrance. He turned, and there was Max, beers still in hand. “Where are you going?”

“I’m really tired,” Kyle said. “I have work in the morning.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the drinks in his hand. “I got you a beer, though. And I thought afterward we were going to… you know…” He shrugged, his expression suggestive of exactly what he thought they _could _do.

Kyle sighed. “It’s doesn’t seem like we’re doing much of anything. You’ve barely talked to me all night.”

Max laughed apologetically. “Yeah. Sorry about that. It’s just, you know. It’s my friend’s thing, and I haven’t seen these people in a while, so…”

“I get that,” Kyle said, and he realized that he did. This was what Max liked. This was his idea of fun. But it wasn’t Kyle’s. Maybe if they were in a more serious relationship, and Max had wanted to take him to big gatherings like this every now and then, it would be different. But this was what Max wanted to do all the time. And Kyle just… didn’t. “I want you to have fun tonight. But I’m not having any fun. I don’t know anyone, and I don’t like getting to know people in a loud bar. I had been hoping for time for us to be together. But even those plans fell through and we’re doing this instead. We should have made plans for a different night, I guess.”

“But I wanted you to come. I wanted you to meet everyone.”

“And I wanted to be with you,” Kyle said honestly. “This thing is just starting out. We need to spend more time together before I can do all of… this.” He gestured around the room.

“I’m sorry,” Max said, and to his credit, he genuinely looked it. “I didn’t realize that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Kyle said. “I think we’re just really different, and we like to do different things.”

“I want to hang out with you. I do like that,” Max insisted. “Look, maybe we could just finish these pints, hang out for another half hour, and then go over to my place, just us. Then we’d have some alone time.”

Kyle shook his head. “No thanks,” he said. “I’m really not up for it.” He swallowed, knowing what else he needed to say. “Look, you’re great. I like spending time with you and I really like you. But this just… isn’t working for me.”

Max’s face fell, and Kyle immediately felt a stab of guilt and remorse. He knew this wasn’t really Max’s fault, and he didn’t want to hurt the guy. But they were very different, and not in ways that were going to be compatible. There was no future here, and Kyle was at the point where he really wanted to find something that could have a future.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Max asked.

“You mean am I ending this? Yeah,” Kyle said. “It’s nothing you did. We’re just different, that’s all.”

“Two people can be different and still be together,” Max argued.

“I know they can. But this is how you like to have fun. And that’s great for you. But I don’t like this all that much. I’d rather stay in. I’d rather do things just the two of us. And I think, in the end, one of us would just get bored or frustrated.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that,” Kyle said. “Because I’ve been there. I’ve done it already.”

Max looked thoroughly confused, and Kyle realized maybe he really didn’t get it. They’d never gotten to the “past relationship rehash” stage of dating, so Kyle had no way to know what Max’s romantic history was. But if he had to take a guess, he would guess that he hadn’t gone through a really hard breakup before. That was only a guess though, and he could hardly blame Max for something he couldn’t help.

“This just isn’t what I’m looking for,” Kyle said. “I’m sorry, but I just have to be honest. I hope we can still be friends.” It was cliché, but he meant it. Max was fun. Kyle could see himself going out with the guy once a month, meeting new, colorful people along the way. That would work for him. But not a relationship.

“Ok,” Max said, seeming to accept it, but still looking dejected. It was made all the worse by the two flattening beers he still had clutched in his hand. It made Kyle feel that stab of guilt again. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I really like you, you know.”

“I know, me too. You’re a good guy, Max. And I’m sorry if I ruined your night. I honestly didn’t mean for it all to go like this.”

“Trust me, me neither,” Max said, looking away and swallowing.

“I should go.”

Max nodded. “Ok.”

“Ok. I’ll see you around hopefully?”

“Yeah, maybe.” From Max’s tone, Kyle suspected that probably wasn’t going to happen.

_Oh well._

He left, and as he walked home he thought over everything that had just happened and everything he had just said to Max.

And he realized he was proud of himself. For speaking up, for walking away when it didn’t feel right, and perhaps most of all, for seeing what it was he needed so clearly. It had been a while – too long, probably – since he’d been able to do that.

It was an important step, and, though he’d just had yet another breakup that night, he felt light.

He felt happy.

***

“I’ll count us off, shall I?” Clint asked softly, meeting Kyle’s eyes.

Kyle nodded, huffing out a quick breath. “I’m ready when you are.”

They both held up their wands and looked down at the ball of string between them. “3… 2… 1… and cast,” said Clint calmly, and they began.

It was Kyle’s job to continuously cast the health-monitoring charm on the material while Clint magically unwound the string so that Kyle’s charm could reach every inch of it. Kyle had the harder task, though Clint’s wasn’t easy either. He had to simultaneously rewind the string had been imbued with magic back into a ball, to keep them from getting too tangled up during the casting. It was going to be a delicate process, and Kyle knew he needed his focus. This particular charm had a painful recoil if not handled properly.

The problem was, after the previous night, focus was eluding him. He had a lot on his mind. He knew he had done the right thing, standing up for himself with Max and eventually deciding to end it. Still, he’d had a mild panic attack when he’d gotten back home, questioning whether or not he should have walked away without giving Max a chance to make things right. The guy seemed to really like him, and Kyle knew he shouldn’t take that for granted.

On the other hand, if he wasn’t actually enjoying being around Max, what was the point? Why were the men who liked him often the ones Kyle didn’t like back?

Which only made Kyle think about the man standing right next to him at the moment, murmuring an incantation under his breath, and all that Angelina had relayed to him about that man’s supposed feelings. Was Clint ever going to tell him? Had Angelina been exaggerating? And how did Kyle feel about Clint now that he knew he was gay? Was there any chance that he-

Fire shot through his hand suddenly, making him drop his wand on the table. “Fuck,” he hissed, shaking his hand out. _Stupid. _He hadn’t been focusing, and this is what he got.

“Steady, steady,” he heard Clint say. “Don’t move it too much.”

“Sorry,” said Kyle sheepishly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s all right. Let me have a look.”

“I can probably just cast a cooling charm on it,” Kyle insisted as Clint delicately reached for his hand.

Clint arched a brow at him. “Considering it’s your wand hand that’s injured, I don’t think you should be casting anything. Let me.” He looked over the skin, which had become red and mottled. “You’ve got a bit of a burn there. More than a bit, really. I’d better get the salve.”

“Shit,” Kyle said, hissing again as the hand throbbed hotly. “I’m an idiot.” He sat down in a nearby chair while Clint went over to the cabinets.

“No, you’re not,” he replied matter-of-factly once he’d returned, tin of ointment in hand. He opened it and scooped up a small amount with his fingers. “That is a really difficult charm to cast, and it’s hard to maintain it for as long as you were expected to.” He crouched down and took Kyle’s hand gently in his own again. “This might sting a little, but hold still if you can.”

Kyle clenched his teeth as the salve was applied, but after the initial discomfort the cooling took affect, and he sighed in relief. “I know it’s a hard charm,” he said as Clint turned to get some more salve from the tin. “Which is exactly why I should have made a point of concentrating. I knew I was distracted this morning and I just…” He sighed. “Let it happen.”

“Everything all right?” Clint asked him, looking up briefly before returning his eyes to his task. “Did something happen, or is it just life in general that’s distracting you?”

Kyle chuckled. “My life tends to be pretty distracting, true,” he said, and saw Clint smile. “But I did also break up with the guy I was seeing last night, so that has a lot to do with it.”

Clint paused in his ministrations, but only for a moment. “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. I mean, it was my decision. It just wasn’t working out, and I didn’t see the point in continuing.”

“Mm,” said Clint, turning Kyle’s hand over so he could apply some salve to his palm. “He just wasn’t the bloke for you, then?”

“Yeah, pretty much. He’s too outgoing for me, I think. Which maybe seems like a weird thing to say. But he always wanted to go out and meet up with other people and… I don’t know. He wanted to party all the time. And that can be fun, if I’m in the right mood, but I also like to just stay in and eat takeout and, like… I don’t know. Just talk. One-on-one, you know? Just, like, chill and not…”

He started to wonder if he was rambling, but Clint met his eyes again, and Kyle saw understanding in them. “That’s not weird,” he said. “I’m the same way.”

Kyle huffed a self-conscious laugh. “Good. I mean… thanks. For saying that.” Clint nodded, his gaze turning down again. Kyle watched him, aware that his heart had started beating a little faster. “I think for a long time I had it in my head that there was a certain type of person I was _supposed _to like. I thought I ought to date someone more extroverted because then they would make _me _more extroverted, or something. But I’m starting to realize that there are some aspects of myself that just aren’t going to change. They don’t even _have _to change, really. That I’m, you know, fine the way I am. Which sounds dumb.”

“No,” Clint said. “It doesn’t.” His eyes were dark and warm, and his hands surprisingly gentle and sure as they worked the salve into Kyle’s skin.

“I’m finally starting to get it into my head that I should look for someone who complements me, who wants the same things I want and who likes to spend their time in the same way I do. Someone who will get it when I say I don’t feel like going out. Someone who is happy to talk to me about anything and who is also a good listener.” Kyle laughed at himself. “Which maybe is hypocritical, because I know I talk a lot and _I _should be better about being a good listener.”

Clint shook his head, that same small smile on his face. “You’re a good listener. You know when to listen. You just also say what’s on your mind, that’s all.”

“Which gets me in trouble a lot,” Kyle replied, grinning.

Clint’s lips twitched. “Maybe. But at least you’re saying your piece, you know? At least you’re telling the truth. I really… I’ve always admired that about you.”

Kyle stared at him, unsure of what to say. Clint’s eyes were still on their hands.

“It’s something I wish I were better at,” Clint murmured, after a moment. “But I don’t know how to be.”

“Speaking your mind?” Kyle said, before clearing his throat when he realized his voice sounded a bit… rough.

Clint nodded. “I hold back a lot. I don’t _want _to. Sometimes there are things I really wish I could say. But the words get… stuck in my throat.”

“What kinds of things?” Kyle asked. There was no denying it now. His heart was pounding. “Can you give me an example?”

Clint looked at him once again, his hand stilling. For a moment, Kyle thought there was some understanding passing between them. Although maybe he was imagining it.

Clint licked his lips before starting to chew on the bottom one. “A lot of different things,” he said quietly, finally. “I don’t know… like… things at work. I want to be a good employee. I want people to like me. So I don’t speak up when I’m unhappy about something.”

“Mm,” said Kyle, silently admitting his disappointment to himself. He’d been kind of hoping for a different answer. “I get that. There’s a lot about this job I like. I mean, the actual work. But sometimes the bureaucracy doesn’t make our job any easier, does it?”

Clint huffed a laugh. “True.”

“Rosemary’s not exactly a peach either. Though it’s gotten better with her since I took your advice.”

Clint was smiling enough to show his teeth now. “Glad to be of help. I’ve never had a problem with Rosemary, though. It’s the more the higher ups. Like the people who oversee our department but also oversee a bunch of others and don’t really understand what we need to do our jobs properly. They always prioritize Transfiguration over us, and it makes me…” He sighed. “It’s frustrating.”

“I didn’t realize that. About Transfiguration Development. I mean, I know we share storage with them…”

“Yeah, _our _storage,” said Clint, his voice taking on an irritated edge that Kyle had never heard from him before. “It’s been this way for almost a year now, since before you got here. That’s why you probably haven’t noticed. But Transfiguration has their own lab and their own storage. But because their department works with so many physical materials, and our department only does sometimes, they put in a request to use our lab’s storage for their overflow. And their request was granted without anyone even _asking _us how we felt about it. And now we’ve had to put expansion charms on our remaining cabinets to hold everything we need. And the supervisors seem to think that’s _just fine_, even though what they don’t realize is that expansion charms make the interior of the cabinets huge and you can only get to some tools and materials by summoning them. And not all objects are safe to summon, either because they’re fragile and could break on the way or because they’re dangerous. Like, the last thing we need is sharp objects flying through the air. Who ever heard of someone casting ‘_Accio_ knife’ and _that _ending well for them?”

Kyle bit his lip to hold back his laughter, though it was pretty much a losing battle. “Good point,” he managed.

Clint’s dark gaze flicked to him, and Kyle was relieved to see some amusement in it. “There are some objects you just don’t summon, as a rule. Everyone knows that.”

“Yeah. That’s definitely true,” said Kyle. “I guess I just hadn’t thought about it before now. I haven’t run into that problem yet, but I also haven’t had nearly as much lab time as you.”

“All of us work around it, and most of the time we seem to do all right,” Clint admitted. “But every now and then it’s an issue… and I guess I just feel it should never be an issue. It’s a workplace accident waiting to happen. That’s what it comes down to for me. We should be given the space we need.” He sighed. “I think about it a lot.”

“And yet you haven’t said anything.”

Clint shrugged. “I like my job. I don’t like to step on anyone’s toes.”

“I understand,” said Kyle. “But if you genuinely think it’s a safety issue, there are official channels to go about filing a complaint.”

The other wizard grimaced. “Even the words ‘filing a complaint’ make my skin crawl. I was raised to take whatever I get and not complain. Ever.”

Kyle had to admit that his curiosity was piqued at that remark, but he also could sense that was a rabbit hole that would only sidetrack them if they followed it.

“What about when it’s for the benefit of others, not just yourself?” he asked. Clint looked at him, and, though he didn’t answer, Kyle could tell he was absorbing that. “I’d offer to just file the complaint on your behalf, but I think it would be stronger coming from you. Since you aren’t someone who complains. Ever. They’ll know it’s serious. And Rosemary could expedite the paperwork for you. You know she’d help you with anything you asked her to.”

“That’s true,” Clint said, still sounding unsure.

“I’ll help you write it, if you want. And I’ll sign it too. Maybe we can get everyone in the department so sign it, like a real petition. Then, you know, you’re not doing it on your own.”

Clint had gone utterly still by now, Kyle’s salve-lathered hand still nestled between both of Clint’s. “You’d do that? Really?”

Kyle shrugged. “Yeah, sure. We could work on it tomorrow, if you want.”

Clint stared at him with what Kyle could only describe as adoration. He couldn’t think of the last time anyone had looked at him like that, and it was making him a bit dizzy. Especially since Clint was still holding his hand.

“I guess the salve’s rubbed in, yeah?” he asked, a bit shakily, breaking the charged silence.

Clint blinked, looking down at their clasped hands. “Almost,” he said, starting to rub again. It had essentially become a hand massage, by that point, not that Kyle was complaining.

He couldn’t help but smile as he watched, feeling tingly and fluttery and strange as their eyes met again and held. It was only for a few seconds, as Clint swallowed and dropped his gaze, his small smile matching Kyle’s. But Kyle couldn’t deny how much it was affecting him.

“All done,” Clint said finally, patting Kyle’s hand. “How does it feel?”

Kyle took a breath and made himself refocus, flexing his hand experimentally. “It feels good. The skin’s a little stiff.”

“That’s normal,” said Clint. “It should be fully healed in a couple of hours.”

“I can still do magic, though, right?” Kyle stood. “I wanted to finish this part of the procedure today.”

“Sure,” said Clint, grinning. “But we’re switching jobs. Let’s not risk burning the hand again.”

Kyle huffed. “I can handle it. I’ll concentrate this time, I promise.”

Clint put a soft hand on Kyle’s forearm, and even that light touch had him shivering. “I’m sure you will. But let’s not risk it, all right?”

He removed his hand not long after, and Kyle missed the contact. So much so that it was essentially second nature when he found himself placing a hand gently on the small of Clint’s back as he followed him back to the lab table.

“All right,” he said, letting the hand linger as long as he dared. “Just this once.”

***

Something had changed between them. It wasn’t something Kyle was sure he could entirely name or put his finger on. There was much in his and Clint’s conversations and in their work together that remained the same. By now that felt old and easy, like a worn pair of jeans.

But there were also small touches, whether to get each other’s attention, provide reassurance, or to give acknowledgement, which had not been there before. There were smiles exchanged, teasing quips volleyed, and pregnant silences in which Kyle became convinced, in the moment anyway, that something big was going to happen.

And he was sure by now that he wanted something big to happen. The more time he spent with Clint, the more he liked him, the more he wanted him. And he honestly couldn’t figure out what was taking so long.

He was dropping plenty of hints; he wasn’t sure it was possible to be more obvious than he was being. He sought Clint out at least once a day, even on days when they didn’t have lab work together. He saved a seat next to him at lunch for Clint whenever possible. He attended pub night every week now, and made a point of having some one-on-one time with the man during the evening, leaving when Clint did so they could walk to the apparition point together, their shoulders brushing every now as they talked animatedly or enjoyed a companionable silence.

“Are you _sure _he likes me?” Kyle asked Angelina one day, when he really felt like he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Of course I’m sure, you daft prat. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not to me,” grumbled Kyle, although that wasn’t entirely true. He caught Clint watching him a lot, and he’d started to get it into his head that there was a smile Clint reserved solely for him, shy and elated all at once. There were days when he was sure he could see interest and affection in Clint’s gaze.

But then there were other days, when Clint seemed to avoid him, or cut their conversation short, as if he was in a hurry to get away. Like the most recent pub night, when Kyle had tried to keep Clint lingering at the apparition point, trying to find some way to suggest that maybe they should grab a drink together _just them _sometime. Clint wasn’t having it though, and had murmured a hasty goodbye, citing that he really needed to be getting home to feed his crup. And then he’d Apparated before Kyle could even reply.

“Ugh, why won’t he just ask me out?” Kyle whined. “I feel like I’m being _so _obvious.”

Angelina heaved a put-upon sigh, and Kyle could feel a lecture coming. “Clint is shy,” she said. “Which I’ve mentioned about a million times already. Plus, you shouldn’t even need reminding. You _know _him. And besides which, you’re the one who’s just realized you fancy him, whereas he’s been pining for ages while simultaneously thinking you don’t return the feelings. So really, it ought to be you asking, don’t you think?”

“I’ve tried,” Kyle insisted. When Angelina merely snorted at that, Kyle went on. “I tried just the other night, after we left the pub. He didn’t even give me the chance!”

“You make him nervous when you two are alone like that.”

“But we’re alone at work all the time.”

“That’s different. You have work to focus on.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Kyle.

“Believe me, I’m well aware of _that_.”

Kyle huffed and leaned back in his chair. It really was getting ridiculous. But maybe Angelina was right. Maybe it should be on him to ask, given everything he put Clint through the last few months. Even if he didn’t realize he was doing it at the time, he still felt bad about it.

“You really think he’ll say yes?”

“I _know _he’ll say yes,” Angelina replied. “Well, first he might look at you in wide-eyed panic and gape like a fish. But after that, he will definitely say yes. He might stammer a bit and difficult to understand at first. But just be patient with him.”

Kyle felt his resolve solidify. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He stood without further ado and before he could over think it.

He could do this. He could. Just find Clint, make some small talk, and ask him for drinks. Simple as that.

Clint was coming down the hall, grinning widely, just as Kyle was coming the other direction. They paused when they spotted each other, and Clint quickly approached.

“You look happy,” Kyle remarked.

“You were right,” Clint said, brandishing a piece of parchment in Kyle’s direction. “Apparently I should have done this all along.”

Kyle took the parchment and skimmed it, reading enough to gather that it was a response to the petition he and Clint had filed about storage space in their lab. The results, it appeared, were positive.

“We’re getting all our storage back.”

“The Transfiguration department will be out of our hair by next week,” he said, positively elated. “All the space is ours now.”

“That’s great,” said Kyle.

“It is,” Clint agreed. “It’s definitely a victory. I mean, maybe it doesn’t seem like much, or it seems petty, but…”

“It’s awesome, Clint. You should be proud. The benefits of speaking your mind, right?”

Clint looked at him, directing all that happiness upon him in a way that made Kyle feel a bit overwhelmed, though in a good way. A very good way. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the man exhibit this much emotion openly.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said.

“This calls for a celebration,” Kyle said, realizing this was the perfect segue into the drinks invitation. “Maybe Friday?”

“Yeah, for sure,” said Clint. “Pub night is going to be _wild _this week. I’ll make sure of it.”

Kyle laughed, albeit a bit nervously. “I actually meant, well… maybe a celebration just the two of us. Maybe drinks somewhere else, that isn’t the Leaky?”

If Angelina hadn’t warned him of what to expect, he might have been worried. Because Clint really did gape at him like a fish. Kyle would have found it funny if he wasn’t so anxious for a response.

“I mean, that’s if you’re up for it. I know you like spending time with everyone on Friday-“

“No,” Clint cut him off quickly. “No, I – I was just surprised, that’s all. But yes. I mean, yeah. Yeah. Of course.”

“Great,” Kyle answered. “Then it’s a date. I’ll pick somewhere nice. Maybe Muggle, so we can just be… alone.”

Clint gaped at him some more. “A date?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Kyle said. “That’s what I’m hoping. I mean, if that’s ok…”

“Yeah,” Clint said, his face practically splitting in half as he smiled. “Brilliant.”

_All right, _this _is officially the most emotion I’ve ever seen Clint express_, Kyle corrected in his own thoughts, with no small amount of satisfaction.

“Brilliant,” he agreed. “I’ll, um, let you know the details.”

“Cool, great. Yeah.”

“Great.”

They stood there a moment, grinning, and blushing, and fidgeting.

“Well, I should get back to my office I guess,” Kyle said finally.

“Oh yeah, me too. I was just… I was just on my way over to you, to show you the letter about the lab space. But now I’ve shown you, so…” Clint rubbed the back of his neck.

“So back to the old grind,” Kyle said.

“Yeah, um, that.”

Kyle turned away, before he felt any more ridiculously awkward or found Clint any more ridiculously cute. He was well aware that as he made his way down the hallway he was feeling more and more elated, a grin breaking over his face that no one could see and an increasingly weird desire to dance his way back to his office.

When he returned, Angelina looked up, staring at his face for a moment. She must have read his emotions pretty accurately though, because she leaned back in her chair with a cry of victory and her fists in the air.

“I _knew _it!” she said. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“You told me,” Kyle said.

“Tell me everything. What did you say? What did _he _say?”

Kyle shrugged. “I just asked him for drinks Friday. He looked shocked. Then he said yes. And he said ‘brilliant,’ which I take it to mean he’s happy.”

“Yes, I dare say he is,” Angelina agreed. “But do you really have to do it Friday? What about pub night?”

“This is instead of pub night,” said Kyle. “Just this once.”

“You could do it Saturday instead.”

“No,” Kyle argued. “Because then on Friday at the Leaky we’ll just be sitting around awkwardly waiting for the next night and our date. And it will be weird. And I don’t want to wait anymore. I just want to see if this could be something before I go absolutely stark raving mad.”

She scowled, but said, “All right. Fair enough. But you have to tell me everything afterwards.”

“I imagine we both will.”

Angelina squealed then, bouncing in her chair. “This is wonderful, really. My two favorite gay boys, together at last.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, but he was aware that he was also smiling. “We’re not together yet.”

“But you will be,” said Angelina. “I know it.”

Kyle went back to his desk and sat down, trying to remember what it was he was actually supposed to be working on. He couldn’t for the life of him remember.

“Merlin, I wish it was Friday,” he said out loud. “I’m not going to be able to concentrate on anything all week.”

“Not that you were concentrating much before,” his office mate pointed out. “Let’s face it, you and Clint have been rather fixated for a few weeks now. Maybe once you finally shag you’ll actually become functional employees again.”

Kyle tossed a balled up piece of parchment at her in retaliation, though only have-heartedly. In truth, he knew she was right.

He just needed this date to go well. It was hard to trust anything this good coming along in his life. It was so easy to see how it could all fall apart. But he was ready for something good, something better than good.

_Worthwhile risks_, Draco had talked about to him once. He might be out of his comfort zone, but he had a feeling it was going to be worth it.

***

Kyle arrived at the bar early, mostly out of nerves and anticipation, but also because he wanted to make sure and scope out a table. He hoped to have one waiting for Clint when he arrived. Fortunately, the bar wasn’t too busy for a Friday night, and he was able to find one, a small, cozy one in the back with a wrap-around booth. It meant they could sit side by side without it feeling too weird or contrived, and that was exactly what he wanted.

_You’re overthinking this, _he accused himself, before deciding that no, he actually wasn’t. He was putting thought into how he wanted this night to go, and Clint deserved that. He just wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for both of them, and he wanted it to bring them closer.

_Much _closer, if he was honest with himself. He’d decided, just in case, to give his apartment a good cleaning, put fresh sheets on his bed, and make sure the fridge was stocked with every breakfast item Clint could possibly want.

You know, just in case. He didn’t have any specific expectations, but he certainly had hopes. You never knew, after all.

He tossed his coat onto the seat to reserve his table, bringing his wallet with him to the bar. The other thing he had to be sure and do was make sure he had enough Muggle money on hand to cover them for the evening. He fully planned to buy every drink, and wasn’t going to let Clint argue otherwise, even if the man rolled in with a wallet fat with Muggle notes. He ordered himself an old fashioned and leaned against the bar, waiting for it to be filled.

There was a guy a few seats away from him, giving him an interested eye, and when their gazes caught Kyle gave him a polite nod before quickly turning away. He didn’t think Clint would appreciate walking in on Kyle getting hit on by someone else.

Or at least, he really _hoped _Clint wouldn’t appreciate that. Otherwise he'd misread this whole situation.

Luckily, Clint walked through the door only a minute later, before Kyle had even been served his drink. He smiled when he spotted Kyle, and Kyle smiled back. Clint made his way up, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched slightly in a way that telegraphed the man’s nerves. Kyle felt his stomach flip, glad he wasn’t the only one.

“Hey,” Clint said, when he was within talking distance.

“Hey, glad you found it all right,” Kyle said. On instinct he reached out and put a hand on Clint’s lower back to encourage him closer. He was still wearing his coat, but even through all that fabric Kyle could feel defined muscle, and his mouth went dry.

The bartender put Kyle’s drink in front of him, and Kyle was relieved to have something else to focus on. It wasn’t a great idea to start having lusty thoughts before the night had even really begun.

“What would you like?” he asked Clint as the bartender waited in front of them, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“What are you drinking?”

“An old fashioned. Do you want to try it?”

Clint nodded and took a sip. “It’s good. I’ll have that.”

The bartender nodded and set to work, and Clint leaned in close to Kyle, murmuring, “I don’t know a lot of Muggle drinks. I was at a bit of a loss.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have thought of that,” Kyle replied. He was used to no-maj bars and the drinks that came along with them. Some of his favorite places to go out in Toronto were no-maj. It hadn’t occurred to him that Clint might feel out of his element.

“No, it’s no problem,” Clint said. “I like trying new things. I just didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of the bartender.”

“Or break the statute of secrecy,” Kyle said, closing the distance between them even more so he could keep his voice low, and so his breath could brush along Clint’s ear. Definitely that too.

Clint grinned, turning his head just so, their faces barely inches apart. “Exactly.”

Kyle bit his lip. Well, if this was how the night started, he was happy to see where it was going to go.

The bartender gave Clint his drink, smirking at the two of them as they jumped apart a bit at being interrupted. Kyle paid, throwing in a little extra as a tip, then grabbed his drink.

“I got us a table in the back,” he told his date, and, since he suspected Clint didn’t have a problem with touch, he took the man’s hand to lead him that way. He saw Clint duck his head, likely hiding another grin, and he had to fight one of his own.

Clint removed his coat as well, showing off his broad shoulders in the dark, tight button down he wore. They settled in, side by side as Kyle had hoped, and Kyle decided to ask Clint about work, what with it being the topic the man was most comfortable with.

Clint told him about his day, and Kyle told him about his, and then Clint asked him about how he had gotten so passionate about Charms, and what other subjects had he loved in school. Kyle was glad for that. It was new territory for them, their school days, and he hoped it would lead to them getting to know each other better.

“I really liked Transfiguration too,” he said. “But I wasn’t as good at it. There’s something about imbuing an object with magic that’s easier than changing the structure of it.”

“I agree,” Clint said. “Transfiguration always seemed to harsh, so forceful. It uses up a lot of magic. Dead useful, obviously. But harder.”

“But also less versatile,” said Kyle. “That’s what I loved about Charms, once I got into more advanced levels, getting to experiment. And that’s when I realized it’s what I wanted to do as a profession.”

Clint nodded. “It was similar for me. I love lab work. I actually considered Potions for a bit, for the same reason. But I didn’t love being hunched over a cauldron all day, and I didn’t love Herbology.”

“I just never felt like I got to use magic enough when I did Potions,” Kyle said. “All that cutting and stirring… it felt like cooking, and I’m not the world’s best cook.”

“I could teach you a few things,” Clint said, eyes twinkling. “If you were interested.”

“You cook?”

“Pretty frequently. Especially on the weekends. Don’t get me wrong, after a hard day at the Ministry sometimes all I want is some takeaway curry and a beer, but on the weekends I like to go all out.”

“I’d definitely like to see that,” said Kyle, smiling. “I’d like to eat what you make, at least. Can’t promise I’ll be all that helpful in the preparation process.”

“I bet you have more skill than you think you do. You tend to underestimate yourself, you know.”

“Do I?" Kyle asked, feeling a bit shy as he stared into his drink. “Maybe that’s true. I just never want to overstate my skills to people. Because then they wind up disappointed. I know what I’m good at. I tend to stick to that.”

“And what would you say you’re good at?” Clint asked.

Kyle felt himself blush. “I don’t know. Charms. That’s pretty much it.”

Clint laughed. “You see, I know that’s not true.”

Kyle shrugged. “Mm, maybe.”

“Always so modest.”

“Please, you’re one to talk,” Kyle said, giving the other man a nudge with his arm. “Every time you accomplish something amazing you just shrug and smile and go, ‘hey, it’s not that big of a deal.’”

Clint took a sip of his drink. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Kyle grinned in triumph, but also in affection. At first he had thought the way Clint downplayed his own accomplishments was him taking his good fortune for granted. Now Kyle understood just how hard the man worked, and how much he saw hard work as just a part of life. Kyle hoped he could convince him to celebrate the rewards too. He took Clint’s hand on the table, the one that wasn’t clutching his drink, running his fingers lightly over his knobbly knuckles, which had gone a bit dry and ashy from the cold.

“Just one of the many things we have in common, I guess,” he said.

Clint turned his hand over, so that their palms could rest together. “I guess so,” he murmured, his eyes on their hands.

“What are you thinking about right now?” Kyle asked him.

Clint let a small smile flit across his face, his eyes still downcast. “Mostly that I can’t believe I’m here.”

“In a Muggle bar?”

“With you.” He looked up at Kyle then, taking his hand in earnest at the same time, so their fingers intertwined. “Like this. I honestly never thought it would happen.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t think you liked me.”

Kyle’s smile fell, and he gave Clint’s hand a squeeze of reassurance. “Well, in case it hasn’t escaped your notice, I can be a bit of an ass sometimes. I wasn’t… in the best place when I got to London, as I’m sure you know, given that I was basically advertising it everywhere I went.” He snorted at the memory, both of how heartbroken and confused he was, but also at how much time he spent thinking about it and talking about it. His poor coworkers. His poor sister.

“Hey, that didn’t bother me, you know,” Clint said, reacting to Kyle’s suddenly furrowed brow. “It wasn’t about that. I could tell things were hard for you. But you handled them really well.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “It’s sweet of you to say that, but I know I wasn’t at my best.”

“Bad things happen to everyone,” Clint said, his tone firming. “And when they do, a person can’t be at their best. That’s just… part of the deal, I think. It’s the fact that you got through it, the fact that you chose to make your life better and move on… _that’s _the victory. Not everybody can do that.”

Kyle watched Clint as he spoke, realizing that what he wanted, more than anything, was to know what bad things had happened to him too. He could tell that the man was speaking from experience, and he wanted to know what that experience was.

Kyle wanted to know everything. The good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful. All of it.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Because I do think – no, I _know_– that I wouldn’t be here right now without all the choices I’ve made. And I’m really, really glad I’m here. With you.”

They stared at each other warmly for a moment before Clint returned his attention to his glass, spinning it against the table with his fingers. “Can I ask…?” he began.

“You can ask me anything,” Kyle said.

Clint’s smile widened. “I’m trying to figure out _what _I want to ask, exactly. I’m worried it’s going to come out… I don’t know… really needy or something. Like I need validation.”

“You can ask me anything,” Kyle repeated. “I won’t judge, I promise.”

“I guess I was just wondering… _why _you asked me out. Why now? Why me?”

“Why you is easy. I like you. I have for a while. I thought I was being pretty obvious about it.”

“Well it wasn’t obvious to me. I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that we would be friends and that was it. I was glad to have that, even, since you were finally warming to me. It didn’t occur to me, or… I don’t know. I didn’t want to let myself believe it was possible.”

Kyle found himself lifting their clasped hands and bringing Clint’s knuckles to his mouth. He didn’t kiss them so much as let them rest there, the slightly rough skin tickling his sensitive lips.

“Why not? Why wouldn't you let yourself believe it?” he asked quietly. “It’s ok, you can tell me," he added, sensing the other man's hesitation.

Clint sighed, closing his eyes. “Because I wanted it so much,” he said finally. “I wanted you _so much_.”

Kyle closed his eyes too and kissed Clint’s hand for real, letting the starkness and beauty of that simple statement wash over him. When he opened his eyes again, Clint was staring at him, his eyes clouded but full of warmth.

“Wanted?” Kyle said against Clint’s hand. “Past tense?”

“Want,” Clint corrected. “Very much present tense.”

“That’s just as hard for me to wrap my head around as it was for you to believe I had asked you out,” Kyle admitted. “I don’t really understand. I mean, I’m trying to be better about believing that I’m… likeable and… you know, desirable, but…”

Clint shook his head. “That’s the thing that’s always confused me the most about you. How you could doubt yourself so much.”

“You doubt yourself just as much,” Kyle said, not unkindly. “To not think… to not realize how much and how fast I had fallen for you, once I finally got my head out of my ass and could see things clearly.” Clint let out a shaky breath, and Kyle plowed on. “You asked why now as well. It happened now because I finally realized – with Angelina’s help, I’ll grant you – that you might never do it, because it took us a while to get to know each other, to become friends.” Kyle was fully aware that this was mostly his fault, which he fully intended to apologize for later. But for now… “I _really _wanted you to ask me out. I kept hoping you would. But now I get it. You didn’t have reason to think that my feelings had changed. But they did. I just want… to be with you, and see where it will go. I hope that’s what you want too.”

“It’s all I could ever ask for,” Clint said.

“I want you to feel like you can ask for anything,” Kyle said. “This isn’t a one-sided thing. This is us, together, figuring out what we want. Together.”

Clint nodded. “All right,” he said, his voice a rasp.

Kyle smiled, kissing Clint’s hand one more time before putting both of theirs back on the table. “Can you guess what the turning point was for me?” he asked, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. He was all for Serious Relationship Talks, but this was their first date, and he also wanted to make sure Clint had some fun, felt at ease.

“The turning point…?”

“When I realized just how much I liked you. How much I was attracted to you. There was a moment, and I’m wondering if you can guess when it was.”

Clint appeared to be thinking hard, and Kyle watched him, considering how adorable he looked when he wore that little pensive frown.

“Was it a moment… when we were working together?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kyle confirmed. “In the lab.”

“We spent a lot of time in the lab,” Clint pointed out, but he was grinning, that shy grin Kyle sometimes suspected was reserved just for him.

“Yeah. But this moment was particularly… pivotal. At least for me. Something happened, and you helped me.”

“The burn,” Clint said instantly. “On your hand.”

“Yep,” Kyle said, pleased it hadn’t taken that many hints. “And I told you that I broke up with Max, and talked about what I realized I was looking for in a relationship. And you just understood. It was like you were already on the same page with me, like you’d always understood. That was when I first realized there could be something more between us, that I wanted there to be. The fact that it felt so good to have you hold my hand, well, that was just a bonus.” Kyle was a little self-conscious admitting this, but he knew instinctively that Clint would love it, appreciate hearing it.

Clint let out a pleased chuckle, and Kyle knew he had been right. “That was also the day you offered to help me with the petition. As if it was possible for me to fall more-“ He cut himself off, clearing his throat. “For me to become even more mad about you, I mean.”

Kyle felt his stomach flip at the almost-confession, and he had to do a little bit of breathing to get his heart rate under control again. He wasn’t frightened of hearing the L word, if Clint really wanted to say it. But he wasn’t going to push either. Their feelings might be heading fast in that direction, but it didn’t necessarily mean they were ready to say it, and that was ok.

“So, an important day for both of us.”

“Do you want to know what was the turning point for me? The moment I realized how I felt?”

Clint’s voice came out a bit shaky, clearly nervous, but Kyle simply squeezed his hand tightly and said, “Yeah. I really want to know.”

“That first staff meeting. I think you were a week on the job, and we’d been introduced already, of course. But I’d barely gotten a chance to talk with you. All I remember is that I thought you were fit, but you seemed a bit shy and unsure around everyone.”

“I was,” said Kyle. “I don’t always do well with first impressions. It takes me a while to get comfortable around new people.”

“I’m the same way,” Clint said. “And I figured you’d warm up to all of us eventually. I wasn’t too worried about that. I was just curious about you. And then we had that meeting, where you were officially introduced and Rosemary gave that presentation about lab procedures, which she said we all needed to be reminded of, and since you were new, we may as well do it all at once.”

“I remember,” Kyle said. It wasn’t his finest hour, probably, mostly because it was when he made an enemy of his supervisor. “I mouthed off about it, from what I can recall.”

“No, I wouldn’t describe it like that,” said Clint, ever the generous one. “You were honest. You asked a lot of questions, questions I either had wanted to ask before or had never thought to ask, about why things were the way they were, and wouldn’t it be easier if… etcetera, and I remember thinking that you were going to be good for this department, because we’re so set in our ways and… I don’t know British wizards have a tendency to do things the way they’ve always done them, without questioning _why_. And suddenly there you were, to shake things up. I could tell everyone was really happy about it.”

“Except Rosemary, of course.”

“She’s come around, more than you realize,” Clint said, mouth twitching. “She just doesn’t like to admit it.”

“Well, I’ll take what I can get from her,” Kyle said, before realizing they had veered off topic, a topic Kyle was _very _interested in. “So that was what made you like me, the fact that I questioned everything?”

Clint shrugged. “Maybe it seems weird to describe it that, but in a sense, yeah. The more you talked, the more interesting I thought you were. You don’t think like everyone else. And then at the end of the meeting we asked you about your work before you came to us, and the projects you mentioned… It’s like I said, all those months ago, when we were leaving the pub. You’re doing the kind of work that really changes things, and I couldn’t help but feel inspired by that.”

Kyle didn’t know what to say. It was all so incredibly earnest, and sweet, and… _pure _– he really didn’t have another word for it; that’s just what it was.

“The nail in my coffin was a few days later, when you off-handedly mentioned an ex-boyfriend back in Toronto. That gave me confirmation that you liked men. And then I knew I was doomed.” He sighed, and Kyle almost thought he caught some self-deprecation in the sound.

“Why was that the nail in the coffin? Because you knew you might stand a chance with me?”

“I wasn’t sure I’d ever stand a chance with you, per se, but… well, have you ever developed a crush on a straight bloke?”

“A fair few,” Kyle admitted. “Never ends well.”

“Exactly. I made that mistake once, my last year of Hogwarts. That was one time too many.”

“Yeah.”

“So, if it turned out you were straight, I wouldn’t have seen the point. I would have found a way to get over you. But you weren’t, so I just kept… fantasizing.” He grinned like he had a secret, and Kyle couldn’t help what question came out of his mouth next.

“What kind of fantasies?”

Clint shook his head, biting his lip. “Nope. Not telling.”

“Aw, come on,” Kyle teased, nudging him. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Clint looked at him a moment, almost like he was considering it. “I’ll tell you eventually,” he said. “Maybe.”

“I can be patient,” Kyle said. He was all for anything that even indirectly implied more dates in the future. “I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

“I imagine you will,” Clint said resignedly, but not at all unhappily. “I don’t imagine I can resist you in anything for long.”

Kyle snorted, thinking about that, about all that Clint had just told him about when his feelings began. “All this time,” he said. “I wish I had known. Why didn’t you ask me out when I first got to London?”

“I’m a bloody coward, I suppose,” Clint said.

“No,” Kyle answered immediately. “Don’t say that. I know it’s not true.”

“I’m not very brave,” Clint said. “I’m not saying it to be modest. I’m just saying it’s not one of my strengths. I like to think things through before I do them. Some might call me an over-thinker, and those people would be right.”

“I think it depends on you definition of bravery,” said Kyle. “You take a lot of risks in your work. You played Quidditch, which I think is fucking terrifying, if you want to know the truth.”

Clint shrugged. “That’s different.”

“I don’t think it is. I think we’re all brave about some things and cowards about some things. And which is which depends on who we are and what we’re most afraid of.”

Clint didn’t argue with that, nor agree either. He was quiet, staring into his drink again in thought. “I wanted to. Merlin, I wanted to ask you out. I thought about it. But then there was that pub night, early on, when Hannah mentioned her breakup, and you responded by mentioning yours, and how rough it had been. Your voice shook, you know, when you talked about Evan. I could see how much he had hurt you. And it was so new. The breakup, I mean. It had ended so recently. So I told myself that you wouldn’t be emotionally available anyway, and I let myself off the hook. I told myself that I would ask you out eventually, once you’d had more time to get over your ex, once we’d had more time together to get to know each other. But I was having a hard time getting to know you. You didn’t seem to like me as much as you liked Angelina or Hannah.”

“Because I’m an ass, remember?”

Clint shook his head. “No. I think it was because you made me so nervous, I could only talk to you about work. It was the only thing I could ever think of talking about, the only thing that felt comfortable. So I drummed up any excuse to talk to you, but never about things that would help us get to know each other.” He shook his head. “The really mad thing is, I knew that’s what I was doing. I just couldn’t seem to stop. And _then _you went and got involved with Malfoy, and I figured I had missed my chance.”

“Didn’t last long, though,” Kyle pointed out.

“Felt like an eternity,” Clint said. “But I knew it was my own bloody fault. Angelina kept telling me I should say something, and I kept telling her that I was just waiting for the right time, which was a lie. Like I said, I was just scared.”

“I get it,” Kyle said. “I totally get why you would be scared.”

“You seemed to really like Malfoy,” Clint went on, still on a roll. “And then, when you two broke up, you seemed even more upset than you had been. So even though I was selfishly glad it was over between you, I felt sad for you, and I didn’t see the point in trying to swoop in and ask you out. You didn’t seem to want any kind of relationship at that point.”

“I didn’t,” Kyle said. “Because the breakup was painful, obviously, but, more importantly, it brought up everything I had been avoiding dealing with before, about how things ended with Evan. I had a lot of shit to sort through, to tell you the truth.”

“I knew that. It was plain to see. So I decided to give you time again. I just hoped that maybe… maybe once you cleared your head a bit, you might see… And well, we were getting to know each other a bit better by then. We were becoming friends.”

“Yes, we were.”

“So I had hoped that you might think of us as more, eventually, if you had some time. But then… you went and got another boyfriend. While I was out of town, no less.”

Kyle huffed, half in amusement and half in empathetic frustration for what Clint must have been feeling in that moment. “I don’t think he counts as a boyfriend. We only went out a handful of times.”

“You spent the night at his place,” Clint said, his voice carefully neutral. “You slept with him.”

Kyle chewed on his lip. “I’m sorry.”

Clint sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong, dating that… whatever his name was.”

“Max. And I… I know that. I mean, I know that. But… I guess I’m just sorry that I didn’t see it before, you and me. And that I talked so openly about it. And I’m sorry for bringing it up now. I don’t… I mean obviously we’ve known each other for a while, and even though this is a first date, it’s also more than that, because we were friends first. But I don’t want to talk about things like this if they’re going to make you sad. We can talk about it later. We have all the time we want to talk about stuff like this.”

“I don’t mind,” Clint said. “Honestly. It’s kind of a relief. To get it all out in the open. To say everything I’ve been wanting to say.”

“You did mention that’s hard for you sometimes.”

“Yes. I did. And it’s true.”

They were silent for a moment, and Kyle realized that he had taken their conversation off the rails somewhat, when Clint was finally being so forthright and open.

“So what you’re saying, essentially,” he said, to get them back on track, “is that the timing was never right. I was always either fresh off of dating someone and fairly devastated about it, or I was dating someone new. So, in a way, it’s my fault as much as yours, really.”

Clint laughed and Kyle grinned, glad that he understood the attempt to make light of the whole situation, in the hopes that they could move forward.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Clint said. “Let’s not forget that after you ended things with Max, you were single. And very much _not _upset about it, which you flat out told me.”

“I might have been trying to give you a hint, actually,” Kyle pointed out.

“Which I didn’t notice, in my general obliviousness,” Clint said. “And also due to the fact that, as I mentioned before, I’d become resigned to the idea that we would just be friends. Not that I didn’t _like _being friends with you, of course-“

“No, I know that.”

“I had accepted it, for the most part.”

“Ah well,” Kyle said, stretching with faux nonchalance so that his arm was draped around Clint. “Now I’ve gone and ruined everything. Your neat little plan you had to just be friends. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

“I’m glad,” Clint said, leaning back so that their skin brushed. “I’m definitely not sorry.”

“Good.”

One of Clint’s hands came to rest lightly just above Kyle’s knee, in a way that made Kyle pleasantly realize just how big those hands were. He shivered and scooted closer. They were practically on top of each other, but neither seemed to mind at all.

“Tell me about Ilvermorny,” Clint said, after another short and companionable silence, in which they sipped their drinks, looked around the bar, and gave each other light, soothing touches wherever they could reach. “I’ve always been curious about it.”

Kyle was happy with the change of topic, and told Clint all he could think of that might be interesting. He gave him a brief history and how the houses got their names, how the sorting ritual went, and what his own house had been like.

“I was Pukwudgie,” he said. “Which was predictable. Lins was in Horned Serpent, _of course_, just like our dad. And my mom was in Wampus.”

“Weird names.”

“Yes, because Hufflepuff and Slytherin are such normal house names.”

“Which one do you think I would be sorted, if I’d gone to Ilvermorny?”

“Well, you were Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, right? So probably Horned Serpent. Although you would have fit in well in Pukwudgie too.”

“With you,” his said, his face breaking into another smile.

Kyle grinned back at him, and he realized his face was going to be hurting by the end of the night if that kept up. “With me. You’ve been doing all that work with Healing charms lately, and it’s said that Pukwudgie favors Healers.”

“Perfect place for you, then,” Clint said, and Kyle shrugged him off.

In truth, he had felt like he’d been sorted into the right house when he was back at school. Pukwudgies were caring people. Despite his challenges, his insecurities, his struggles with his sexuality, he’d felt at home there. He’d made some good friends, friends he still saw when he could, though moving across the Atlantic had made that more difficult.

“I wonder if you would have been in Ravenclaw with me,” Clint said.

“Maybe,” Kyle said. “I could see that. Though Hufflepuff is a strong contender as well.”

Clint laughed. “I have to admit, that’s true.”

“You’re not going to make fun, now are you?” Kyle asked, mostly joking. “I hear that little thread of disdain in your voice.”

“No, not at all,” Clint replied, and it was obvious he had to work to keep a straight face.

Kyle elbowed him playfully. “You know, I think the other houses should be nicer to Hufflepuff. All the Hufflepuffs I’ve met since I’ve been here have always been the most warm and welcoming of anyone. And yet it seems like they always got the shit end of the stick when they were in school, at least the way Hannah tells it.”

“Yeah, I’ll grant you that,” said Clint. “It’s just that all the nicest people ended up in Hufflepuff, so there was no one left _outside _of that house to be kind to them.”

Kyle shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“In truth, I had a lot of friends in that house. They were good people. And when it came to the war, they were brave too.”

“Everyone had to be a little bit brave, didn’t they?”

“Yes. I suppose, in some ways, we didn’t have a choice.”

Kyle almost asked where Clint had been during the height of the war. He rarely heard any of his coworkers mention it. But that was a topic for another time, for a time when Clint felt safe, when he was ready. Too much for a first date.

It was just difficult, because when he was with Clint he hardly felt self-conscious at all. It was like he could say or ask anything. And there was so much he wanted to say, and so much he wanted to know.

_We have so much time, _he reminded himself. For now, he would find out if Clint wanted a refill, as their glasses were now empty.

“Another drink?” he asked his date. “We can have more old fashioneds, or we can try something different, if you want to expand your Muggle drinks repertoire.”

“Sure, what do you recommend?”

“Well, I was thinking vodka tonics, which are a little lighter and less sweet. Or we could get martinis. I’m not much for gin, so I would get mine with vodka. But I could get you a gin one, if you want.”

“Get whatever you like,” Clint said, shifting in his seat. “Surprise me.”

“All right.” It was then that Kyle realized that Clint was pulling out a wallet, and he stopped the movement gently with his hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You got the last round,” Clint said. “This one’s on me.”

“No, it’s not. Drinks are on me tonight. I invited you, remember?”

Clint shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be that way. We can share things down the middle. I don’t mind.”

“It’s a date,” Kyle said. “And I want to treat you.”

“And _I _want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. This is a celebration of our successful petition, right? Which couldn’t have happened without you.”

“Or you.”

“I deliberately went and got me some Muggle money, just for this reason,” Clint continued to argue, holding up a couple of five pound notes. “What else am I going to do with them?”

He looked at Kyle with wide pleading eyes, and Kyle felt something unnameable and intense fill him, almost to bursting. He wasn’t sure he could bear the amount of affection that had overtaken him. It wasn’t simply lust or desire, it was something more pure than that, and it made him _want_.

Without thinking, he leaned forward, pressing his lips gently against Clint’s. The other man let out a surprised gasp, and Kyle pulled away before the kiss had really got going, a little shocked at himself. He wasn’t usually so forward, and, as much as he knew Clint liked him, he knew that might not have been good timing.

“I’m sorry, if you’re not ready for-“

But he was cut off as Clint gripped him around the back of the neck, using just enough force to bring their mouths together again. This kiss was not nearly so gentle or tentative, but there was still a tenderness in it that only intensified the growing warmth in his chest, and also made something else tug lower, at his navel, a burning ache that felt good and painful all at once.

Clint had dropped his wallet on the table in order to bring Kyle closer, and Kyle now had full access to him, even twisted towards each other in the booth as they were. He put a hand on Clint’s chest, feeling a thrill go through him at the solid muscle he found there. Clint’s mouth explored him, a tentative tongue coming out to swipe at his. Kyle opened his mouth to let him in the further, and thought he kiss deepened it was still slow and sweet, like they were discovering, taking their time.

Kyle’s head was fuzzy when Clint finally pulled away, lips now glistening and swollen and delicious looking. It took him a moment, with the two of them simply staring, smiling, panting at each other, to figure out what it was he wanted to ask.

“You still up for another drink?”

“You going to let me pay?” Clint countered, his voice rough, but also wry.

“I was actually thinking…” Kyle began, before hesitating. Would this be too forward? Was he reading this wrong? “I have plenty to drink back at my place. So we could just go there. That is, if you want. I understand if it’s not-“

“Yes,” Clint said quickly, breathily. “Let’s do that.”

Kyle felt his face split into a grin. “Great.”

Clint smiled back. “Great.”

Kyle leaned in and kissed him once more, for good measure. He kept this one slow and sweet, trying to convey the promise of much more than just one night together. He knew now, more than ever, that he wanted this to be something that lasted.

They left the bar hand in hand, walking down the street in silence that was more anticipatory than it was awkward. Kyle couldn’t help but flash back to all the other times they’d walked to an apparition point together, side by side. Yet all those times it had been almost-touching, both trying to think of something to say. The quiet between them felt so different now, with Clint’s large, warm hand wrapped around his own.

“I’ll Apparate us,” Kyle said when they turned into the alley, pulling Clint to him. “If that’s ok with you.”

Clint nodded, his arms tightening and bringing them even closer together, chest to chest. Kyle was momentarily distracted by that, how solid the other man felt against him, how well they fit together.

Clint leaned in and kissed Kyle under his ear, and it reminding Kyle where they were supposed to be going, and what they would probably do when they got there.

“Right,” he said with a shaky laugh. He took out his wand. “Here we go.”

He spun them on the spot, and they gripped each other close, even once they’d landed in Kyle’s kitchen. They took a breath, orienting themselves, before Kyle lifted his hand and looked into Clint’s face. Clint was already watching him, his eyes hungry as they traced Kyle’s features.

Kyle squeezed his hip, his hand having somehow found its way underneath Clint’s coat. He hesitantly pulled away, starting to remove his own coat and hoping Clint would take it as permission to do the same.

“Well, this is it,” he said, gesturing around. “It’s not much, but…”

“It’s nice,” Clint said. “I like your art.”

Kyle laughed. “Thanks.” He hardly had anything hung on the walls, just a few prints that he’d picked up over the years. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable.” He indicated the sofa over in the living room. “Do you know what you’d like to drink? I have beer, wine, firewhiskey… or just tea or butterbeer if you don’t want anything strong.”

Clint glanced at the sofa for a moment before looking back at Kyle, who was now standing by his kitchen island, waiting for a response.

“To be honest with you,” Clint said, his eyes unblinking, “I’m not all that… thirsty.”

Kyle swallowed and licked his lips. “Honestly… me neither,” he said.

Clint walked towards him, tossing the coat he had removed onto one of Kyle’s kitchen chairs. Kyle watched him approach, his eyes never leaving the other man for a second. He moved with a grace and swagger born of a lifetime of athletics, of awareness of his own body and what he could do with it, and it made Kyle’s breath come short.

“I’m assuming you have something else in mind, then?” Kyle said, already knowing the answer. “Something else you want?”

Clint was right up on him now. They were close enough to breathe the same air. Clint’s eyes fell to Kyle’s mouth, and a hand reached up to cup Kyle’s chin before drifting, dragging a few fingers along his jaw. Kyle let out a breath through his nose, feeling his heart going suddenly fast. That touch, the slow, deliberate gesture, was doing things to him he hadn’t expected, and the increasing need he saw blooming in Clint’s chocolate eyes was only feeding the burn kindling itself in his gut.

“Yes,” Clint answered hoarsely, finally. “I see everything I want.”

Kyle’s hand reached up automatically, at first running down the center of Clint’s broad chest before gripping into his shirt. It was enough to bring Clint forward those last inches, and their mouths met.

It started slow, exploratory, but it got heated fast, with the way they were already opening their mouths to taste with their tongues, the way their hands clung greedily to each other’s clothes, all the buildup of sitting so close at the bar, of those small touches, of those quiet confessions.

They were backing up, Clint pushing and Kyle pulling, mouths still entwined, until Kyle felt the dull dig of his island countertop against his tailbone. In one swift motion, before he could even think about it, he was lifted, effortlessly, so he was sitting on the edge. It made him laugh and gasp simultaneously; laugh, because he’d done a lot of thinking about what it would be like to have that strength be able to pick him up and toss him around a bit; gasp, because it turned out reality was even hotter than fantasy. His legs wrapped naturally around Clint’s waist and he could feel, though they were both fully clothed, their growing hardness meeting each other through the fabric.

“Fully clothed” was definitely a problem that needed to be solved, and Clint appeared to already be getting to work. He’d undone most of the buttons of Kyle’s shirt already, hands running over bare skin before the task was even finished. Kyle wanted his share of skin too, and started on Clint’s buttons, fingers fumbling in their eagerness.

He discovered not long after that he was, at least for the moment, going to be disappointed, as he encountered the barrier of a white t-shirt under the button-down. Still, the fabric was thin, and after he’d undone the last button and put his hands on that chest (and the pounding heart underneath), he could feel all that muscle easily, and the light roughness of some chest hair in the center. And it only drove his anticipation higher.

“Everything all right?” Clint asked him breathlessly, and Kyle realized they had stopped kissing. “Is this too fast for you?”

Kyle was touched by the question. He’d been asked it before, by other men, but always with the sense that they _really _wanted him to answer in the negative, that they might even be a little peeved if he wanted to stop. He didn’t get any of that urgency from Clint, only a slight crinkling of his brow as he looked at Kyle.

He must have taken Kyle’s pausing to admire as a moment of hesitation, though it was far from that. Nothing had felt more right to him than this. He’d never been more sure of anything.

“Not at all,” Kyle said. “Is this going too fast for you?”

Clint grinned. “Not even remotely,” he said. “Gods, Kyle. I’ve thought about this so much. I’ve been thinking about it for so long. I’m… I’m ready. So ready. I just don’t want to push you. We have all the time in the world.”

“Yeah, we do,” Kyle agreed. “And this is what I want, tonight. I’m ready too.”

Clint kissed him, hard, and it made Kyle smile into the kiss.

“So is this one of your fantasies?” he teased. “Having me propped up on a countertop while we make out.”

Clint’s laugh was deep and throaty, and absolutely dead sexy. “Definitely. One of many.”

Kyle nipped at his bottom lip. “So what happens next? In your fantasy?”

“It varies,” Clint said, his tone flitting between suggestive and amused. “Sometimes you’re already naked, and I go down on you until you’re ready for me.”

“_Fuck_,” Kyle replied, his cock twitching painfully.

“And then, when you’re nice and open for me, I take you right here.” He kissed Kyle’s jaw, then went down to is throat. “And you love it, and it makes you come on my cock.”

Kyle moaned shamelessly, wanting Clint to know just how much he liked that idea.

“But tonight, for our first time,” Clint said, pulling away, looking into his eyes. “I think I want the bedroom version.”

“What’s the bedroom version?”

“You, on your bed, completely bare and spread for me. Your cock on my tongue. You coming, crying my name.”

Kyle hummed his approval, but the picture didn’t feel complete to him. “And how do you come, then?”

“Well, there are a lot of options,” Clint replied, and he definitely sounded amused now. “I have a feeling it’s not going to be a problem.”

Kyle laughed, and Clint’s arms tightened around him or a moment, lifting him carefully so that he could make his way back to the floor. There was so much control in the movement, and Kyle realized he’d never felt more secure before in someone else’s arms.

He had absolute faith: in Clint, in their first night together, and in all the days and nights after. He had faith that, as they went on, it would only get better and better.

He took the other man’s hand and led him through the living room, making his way towards the bedroom. He was all for the “bedroom version” of this particular fantasy.

Clint, no surprise, was true to his word. Once they made it into the bedroom, he encouraged Kyle to lie down, having already removed his shirt completely and tossed it to the floor. He then proceeded to remove Kyle’s clothing item by item, staring with his shoes and socks before running his hands up jean clad thighs towards Kyle’s fly. He undid the button and the zipper with a careful yet shaky fingers, his eyes fully focused on his task.

_Is this something he thought about too? _Kyle wondered. _How many times has he imagined getting me naked? How detailed were his fantasies?_

Clint tugged on Kyle’s relatively tight jeans, and his boxers came naturally with them, baring his half hard cock to the bedroom air. Clint kept pulling, his eyes locked on that sight. It made Kyle’s erection start to fill more, that gaze, and he arched towards Clint subconsciously, trying to invite him closer.

“Touch me,” Kyle said, urging him on, since the other man was still staring. “Please.”

Clint gripped Kyle’s hip, able to wrap almost fully around it, and Kyle arched again.

“Please.”

But he only received a soft squeeze to his thigh before Clint pulled away.

“You’re killing me,” Kyle said, though he couldn’t help a smile. If this was going to be torturous, it was a kind of torture he could live with.

“This first,” Clint said before starting to undress. “I want to feel you skin to skin for the first time.”

Kyle could hardly argue, as that sounded incredible, and he’d been curious about seeing Clint completely exposed for a while by that point. So he let the other man remove his clothes without complaint, starting with his t-shirt and followed by his thick leather belt.

He was as muscled as Kyle always imagined, but it was more than that, things he’d never thought to imagine. His stomach was not perfectly flat but rather had a small pooch that Kyle found incredibly endearing. There was a hint of love handles above his hips that Kyle was already itching to grab. Clint pulled down his pants and his thick thighs were revealed, still defined from years riding a broom, and Kyle swallowed thickly.

Then Clint pulled down his black boxer briefs, and Kyle was suddenly looking at one of the biggest cocks he’d ever seen.

His insides clenched and his hole pulsed with a sudden emptiness. He’d never considered himself a size queen by any stretch; he’d enjoyed getting fucked by various shapes and sizes and thought there were merits to all. But the massive erection Clint was sporting suited him perfectly, and reminded Kyle just how long it had been since he’d enjoyed that particular sexual act. And he wanted it.

“Come here,” he said, spreading himself out, just as Clint had described earlier. It was as clear an invitation as he could give, and Clint seemed happy to oblige. He came closer, climbing up on the bed so he was kneeling between Kyle’s spread legs. “You’re gorgeous, you know,” Kyle told him.

Clint breathed out slowly, his hand coming back to that place on Kyle’s hip, a place he seemed to like quite a bit. “So are you,” he murmured. “You have no idea.” He gripped tighter, and it anchored him as he lowered himself over Kyle, lining up their bodies nearly perfectly.

“Gods,” Kyle breathed, as every inch of his skin that brushed along Clint’s sang with happiness. “You were right. You were so right.”

“Right about what?” Clint asked, his mouth going to Kyle’s neck.

But Kyle didn’t know how to explain it, because he’d never felt like this before, just having someone else’s bare body against his. It was like a key going into a lock, a final piece slipping into place. It was like coming home.

He felt simultaneously like he could stay this way forever, like this could be enough, on its own, and yet also like he was craving more. More touch, more closeness, enough that they just blended together into one being.

“I want you inside me tonight,” he whispered.

Clint pulled his head up to look at him, his surprise evident.

“Can we… can we do that?” Kyle went on, when Clint only stared at him. “Would that be ok?”

“Yes,” Clint answered after another moment of hesitation. “Yes, of course.”

“You seem unsure,” Kyle said. “We don’t have to-“

“It’s not that,” the other man was quick to explain. “It’s just that… this is so much like something I’ve dreamed up before that I… Maybe it sounds ridiculous, but it’s almost hard for me to believe this is real. That this is really happening.”

Kyle smiled brightly, unable to help it. He was so full of affection and warmth that he couldn’t contain it. He lifted his head enough to give Clint a tender kiss.

“It’s real,” he said. “Trust me, it’s real.”

Kyle kissed him again, and he deepened it in return, delving his tongue in. Kyle moaned his approval and rutted against him, to remind him of what he wanted.

Clint chuckled at his eagerness. “I have to get you ready first. And I plan on being very thorough.”

“Mmm, good. It _has _been a while, I’ll admit.”

That made Clint pause again. “I thought you… with Max. With Malfoy.”

“I didn’t,” Kyle replied, shaking his head. “We did… we never… I never did that with either of them.” He wasn’t particularly interested in getting into the details of what he had done in the past. He wanted to focus on the here and now. “And I’m glad. I’m so glad. Because I want that with you. Just you.”

_“Merlin_,” Clint breathed, and kissed Kyle even more fiercely.

His hands were everywhere, suddenly, running down Kyle’s sides, massaging his thighs, gripping his ass. His mouth descended to Kyle’s neck, then collarbone, then chest, the fierce want of his lips and tongue never wavering for a moment.

He spent quite a bit of time worshipping Kyle’s nipples, until they were alert and tender and Kyle was begging, “Please, please,” and pushing on Clint’s shoulders to encourage the continued descent. If he didn’t get some attention on his cock soon, Kyle was sure he would go insane.

Clint followed Kyle’s silent instructions, but he kept up the stimulation with his hands, flicking and tweaking both nipples between his thumbs and forefingers as he laved at the indent of Kyle’s navel. Kyle sighed happily in reply. He’d always loved a man who could multitask.

Then Clint was kissing around his hips, and Kyle felt his hardness bumping up against the man’s neck.

“Please,” he begged again, because that seemed to be all he was capable of saying at the moment.

Clint’s mouth left him at that, but only momentarily, only for enough time to wonder what Clint was doing and to open his eyes to find out. But then he looked down and caught a glimpse of the way Clint was hungrily eyeing his cock, and he didn’t even have time to beg again before that hot, wet mouth went around him. He moaned, closing his eyes so he could enjoy the sensation. Clint was taking his time, not taking him in too fast, but it was still so good, exactly what he wanted. He had to work hard not to buck against that pleasure, letting Clint be the guide. His cock was longer than average too, and he hardly wanted to choke the man.

Clint took in just a bit more of Kyle with each bobbing of his head, slowly enveloping him in warmth and pleasure, and Kyle decided to just lay back and enjoy it. The rhythm was slow, almost leisurely, and Kyle didn’t think he was in danger of coming. He relaxed further into the mattress, letting go of his desperation, giving Clint little moans and sighs to let him now how much Kyle was enjoying it.

The whisper of a spell made him open his eyes, and the sudden feel of cool wetness at his entrance made him look down. Clint’s hands had left his chest and were now lingering between his cheeks. Kyle opened his legs wider when he felt the nudging of a finger at his hole.

It was perfect; Clint had relaxed him enough that one of those thick fingers slid into him easily, he clenched around it, not to drive him out, but to enjoy the sensation. But then he relaxed again, knowing that stretching was the most important thing to be doing right now. If he was really going to take Clint’s cock, he was going to have to take a few more fingers first.

He groaned at the second finger, already feeling the burn. It really had been a while, and Clint’s hands were as big as the rest of him. It wasn’t a bad sensation, though. He associated it already in his mind with a prelude to pleasure.

Clint’s mouth popped off of his cock so he could ask, “This all right?”

Their eyes met across Kyle’s heaving torso, and Kyle nodded vigorously. “It’s good. So good. It’s exactly what I want.”

Clint nodded back, beginning to scissor his fingers and increase the burn. His mouth didn’t go back around Kyle’s erection again, but rather started teasing it with his lips and tongue. Kyle had the urge to whine at first, wanting those wonderful sensations again. But he soon realized what Clint was doing. He was keeping him from coming too soon, instead stoking the fire so he would want to take more and more of Clint inside him. The burn was already dissipating, giving way to familiar fullness and the sharp pleasure of the occasional brush to his prostate, and he knew he was ready for a third finger.

“More,” he said hoarsely. “I’m ready.”

Still, the third finger _was _a lot, and he had to breathe through it, focusing on relaxing once more. Clint lavished more direct pleasure to his cock, swirling his tongue around the head and sucking on it. It kept Kyle’s erection from waning and distracted him from the stretch as he adjusted, and Kyle took a moment, in the tiny part of his mind that wasn’t focused on the physical, to appreciate how thoughtful Clint was, in this as he was in everything. Kyle took a moment to recognize how lucky _he _was, that he had found this man, that this man wanted him so much.

That this man loved him. It hadn’t been explicitly said yet, but Kyle found he already knew. He had no doubts, no insecurities. He was already so sure.

He reached down and gently cradled the side of Clint’s head, his short, kinky hair springy against his palm. Clint looked up at him, slowing in his ministrations, his blown-wide pupils shining in the lamplight.

They stared at each other, many things passing between them at once, before Kyle spoke. “I’m ready for you. I want you.”

His hole was clenching happily around Clint’s fingers now, all discomfort gone, and he knew it was time. Clint seemed to trust him implicitly, because he immediately began to pull his fingers out, though he went slowly, carefully. His other hand, also lubed, came to give Kyle’s erection a few strokes, which made Kyle hum contentedly. He felt empty now, but he knew that would be remedied soon, and then some.

Clint came up to kiss him again, sliding his body along Kyle’s in the same way they had begun, reminding Kyle just how good it felt to be close to him. And that was what he wanted, more than anything, more than an orgasm. He just wanted to be as close as possible.

Clint kissed him hungrily for a good minute as he simultaneously and somewhat messily lubed up his own cock. Kyle kissed him back with the same fervor, making sure to stay open and ready for him, legs wrapping lazily around his calves.

“This good?” Clint asked as he tilted Kyle into position. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Kyle answered, arching and urging. “Just like this.”

The blunt head of Clint’s erection was lingering against him now, and he pushed forward, cautiously, dipping inside. Kyle let out a breath, pushing against him and then pulling him further inward.

“Gods,” he said, unable to help it. Clint was only few inches in, and it was already a lot.

“All right?”

Kyle clenched, relaxed, breathed, and answered. “Yeah. Keep going.”

Progress was slow, but neither minded. Clint’s moans were shaky in a way that told Kyle how much pleasure he was already receiving from the tightness, and Kyle was enjoying the stretch, the occasional bump against his sweet spot.

And, most of all, he was enjoying Clint’s reactions, at the reverence in his eyes. He leaned down and gave Kyle a tender kiss before pushing forward again, slowly, so slowly.

The moan Kyle let out then was wanton, bordering on obscene. His prostate was receiving more direct stimulation now, just from the other man’s presence inside him, and his erection was at a painful hardness.

“More,” he begged. “_Gods_. More.”

Clint pushed again, feeling Kyle’s body giving way to him, and he was finally able to bottom out inside him. They lay that way, neither moving, neither speaking. To be like this seemed like enough, like plenty, for the moment. Clint was breathing heavily in his ear, occasionally applying a wet kiss to the hollow of his throat.

Kyle felt himself loosening, adjusting, and he nearly told Clint that it was time, that he could handle a good thrust. But he held back, letting himself simply enjoy this feeling, the fullness, the connection.

After a minute, or perhaps an eternity, Clint began to move. It was the smallest of thrusts, like a rock forward, and Kyle met him there, already panting. Clint continued in this vein, his thrusts minute but still so deep, making the pleasure build inside Kyle bit by bit.

For some unfathomable time they rocked together, slowly, moaning, kissing, discovering each other with their hands. Kyle felt no imminent orgasm, but the pleasure was incredible, because it was in every fiber of him, in all the places Clint was touching him, in all the places his heated gazes and lazy kisses landed. There were no words now, but they didn’t need them; they felt each other; they knew each other.

Gradually, though, the heat began to build, and, with that, a need for release. It came on so slowly that Kyle almost didn’t notice. One moment he was content to rock this way forever, and the next he found himself pulling Clint closer, meeting him harder, chasing pleasure. Clint read this immediately, pulling out more to allow a harder thrust, and Kyle grunted and groaned, encouraging him.

“Like that,” he said, breaking their previously wordless lovemaking. “Gods, _fuck_. Like that.”

Clint thrust harder, faster, and Kyle bore up against it, gripping the man anywhere he could reach. His prostate was now a tender, overworked nub, and he knew he couldn’t last much longer.

“I’m going to come, love,” Clint whispered hoarsely, as if reading Kyle’s mind. “I want to touch you.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” was all Kyle could say as Clint made enough space between them to reach in and take hold of Kyle’s cock. He missed the hot skin pressed against him, but the sweet, tugging pleasure of Clint’s fist was enough of a distraction that he didn’t miss it for long. “So close!” he cried as Clint managed to keep thrusting hard as he jacked him. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”

A choked groan burst from the larger wizard as Kyle felt his insides flood with cum. Seeing and hearing Clint in the throes of climax – as well as the large calloused hand still working him – was enough to bring him over the edge, and he came hard, splattering each of their stomachs with white. The stripes were stark and beautiful against Clint’s dark skin, and Kyle had a few seconds to admire it as Clint continued to thrusts, his speed waning bit by bit. Finally, though, the man collapsed, gluing them together.

It was quite a weight he was bearing, but Kyle found he didn’t mind it at all. He was content to be smothered, to feel’s Clint’s pounding heart and the expansion of his chest as he breathed. He felt sheltered, protected.

He felt safe.

He managed to lift a tired arm and run a hand down Clint’s back, which was slick from his exertions. The hand climbed up the man’s spine, over the back of his neck, to rest gently in Clint’s hair. The curls nestled his fingers invitingly, and he stroked a few times, feeling Clint settle even more against him.

“Merlin,” Clint said, his voice muffled. “That was even better than I dreamed it would be.”

Kyle grinned at the ceiling. “For me too,” he answered.

Clint pulled away, enough that Kyle’s breathing was no longer restricted, and looked down at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Kyle nuzzled Clint’s nose with his, and he received a peck on the lips in return. “We should do that all the time.”

“Yes, we should,” Clint said, beaming. He slid sideways, keeping one arm draped across Kyle’s stomach. They were sticky with cum, but neither seemed in a hurry to clean up.

“Of course, I also want to get a chance to suck your cock,” Kyle replied. “It looks delicious.”

Clint chuckled. “Give me half an hour.”

Kyle laughed too, deciding not to take that _too _seriously. He was already sleepy, and he could see Clint’s eyelids drooping as well.

“Or when we wake up tomorrow,” Kyle offered. “I love morning sex.”

Clint hummed. “Good to know.” He reached over to the nightstand for his wand, finally, and cast cleaning charms on both of them. Then he settled Kyle against him, pulling the covers over both of them.

They didn’t speak for a while. Kyle was happy with his head in the crook of Clint’s neck and his fingers playing in the dark curls on Clint’s chest. He liked this about them, he realized, that they could be quiet together, that they didn’t feel pressed to always fill the silence. It was peaceful.

“We have to decide how much we’re going to tell Angelina,” Clint said after a few more minutes. His tone was amused, and Kyle lifted his head to look at him.

“So I’m not the only one she was planning to pump for information.”

“Apparently not. She’s eager for both sides.”

“Well, I _like _to think our sides of the story match up. We had a great date, talked about our feelings – and lots of other things besides – and then came back to my place for incredible sex.”

Clint smiled. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

“And in the morning I made you breakfast, and then we showered together,” Kyle went on, watching as Clint’s smile widened. “And we realized we were so crazy about each other that we wanted to spend the whole weekend together.”

Clint’s eyes flicked to him, shiny with hope. “Yeah?”

“Sounds right to me,” said Kyle with a small shrug. “If it sounds right to you.”

“It does. It sounds perfect.”

“Angelina is going to be very happy for us.”

“She’s going to be insufferable, trust me,” Clint said drily. “We’ll be drowning in ‘I told you so’ for the next month, guaranteed. She’ll be unbearably smug about it all.”

Kyle considered that. “Then we’ll have to be insufferable right back, I guess,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ll be the cutest couple she’s ever had to put up with. We’ll make eyes at each other constantly at work, snuggle and make out during pub night, and have a million personal jokes that no one else understands. We’ll irritate everyone around us and then let them know that Angelina is to be blame for getting us together in the first place. We’ll see how smug she is then.”

“She’ll want to absolutely murder us.”

“Yeah. But she loves us too, so she won’t actually.”

Clint rolled over, covering Kyle’s body again, still grinning. “The cutest couple ever?”

“That’s the plan.”

“The perfect revenge,” Clint said before meeting Kyle’s mouth with his.

Kyle hummed, deepening the kiss, holding Clint tightly against him. “Yeah. Perfect.”


End file.
